


Sometimes I Write Things

by MrsSaxon



Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal (TV), King Arthur (2004)
Genre: A Zombieland style zombie apocalypse for clarification, AU, AU and crossover, Because it's very accurate, Blood Loss, Crossover, Drabbles, Drinking, Episode: s01e03 Potage, Episode: s01e10 Buffet Froid, Episode: s01e12 Relevés, Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, First Date, Fluff, Hannibal and Will cannot stand the idea of being apart, Hannibal is a fucking tease, Hannibal watches Will while he sleeps, Hurt/Comfort, I don't even drink!, It's adorable and creepy in standard Hannibal fashion, M/M, Modern Art, More alcohol, RPF, RPS - Freeform, Separation Anxiety, Sex Toys, Spacedogs, Strap-Ons, Swearing, That's a very important tag, The Near Kiss, Tumblr Prompts, WILL LOVES HANNIBAL AND I WILL FIGHT ANYONE WHO SAYS DIFFERENT, Whatever this fandom has ruined me already, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, am I incapable of writing without involving alcohol?, because a weird AU happened, cop!will, h/c, no but real zombies, prompts, twink!Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-05-07 14:23:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 48,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5459645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsSaxon/pseuds/MrsSaxon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone seems to be putting together an anthology of their tumblr posts. I thought I'd join the bandwagon! It's a little bit of everything, I promise to put specific warnings per chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hannigram, G

**Author's Note:**

> I know I've been MIA for awhile now, both in reading and writing. Finals have kicked my ass big time. So I thought I'd post this to tell you all I'm not dead and to thank you all for these past few months of Fannibal filled goodness. Hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 09/08/15
> 
> Prompt by timelordsandkittens (Ellimac)  
> 44\. one of them being diagnosed with a terminal illness au, will/hannibal
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rated: G for sads, promise no one dies tho!

They had two wonderful years together before the news came.

They ate and drank their way around the world. Hannibal showed him Italy, properly this time, Romania, Iran, India, Tibet, Singapore. They spent months in Sri Lanka, soaking up the sun, the seafood, and the strange and wonderful dishes they have in southern India, with a few creative indulgences. 

They had just made it to Venezuela when Will remembered he hadn’t seen a doctor in awhile.

“I am more than qualified to treat any ailments you might have, Will,” Hannibal had reminded him.

“You have a pocket biopsy scan and x-ray equipment? I’m amazed Dr. Lecter,” Will retorted.

Unable to deny him anything, Will got his appointment. 

Liver cancer. Stage 3. 

“That’s not possible,” Will whispered.

“I’m afraid it is entirely possible,” the physician replied, handing him the test results.

The biopsy had returned positive results for a growth. A malignant one and fast-growing. 

Hannibal was waiting in the lobby, “All clear?” He smiled brightly.

Will pushed the folder into his chest and walked past him to sit down.

Hannibal opened the folder, read once, twice, then turned slowly and sat down.

“How could you not have known?” Will asked. Not quite accusatory, but dumbfounded and even a little disappointed.

“I didn’t want to believe what my nose was telling me. I put it away, to think about another time.”

“Well now you have to think about it,” Will turned to him, his eyes hard and flinty, “If you had said something earlier I might not be this far along, I might be on the donor list already.”

Will watched Hannibal’s face carefully, its thin lines and grey complexion twisting and turning, changing but never revealing. 

“Do you remember how Jack was when Bella was sick?” he said finally, looking into the empty space of memory.

Will nodded curtly, grinding his jaw.

“Then you remember how everything became painful to him. How everywhere he looked he saw Death and Bella, in an intimate embrace, being dragged from him, farther and farther away until at last they reached a location where he couldn’t find them. And how Bella, too, could no longer enjoy what life remained to her as she tried to save Jack that pain,” Hannibal stopped and swallowed, “Would you have given up Rome or Nobulingka for a few more months of worry? Would you take back the long nights in Sri Lanka or quiet mornings in Greece for a hospital bed and silk flowers?”

Hannibal turned to Will, meeting his eyes.

Will’s world was over-glossed at that moment, blurring at the edges, bleeding image to image. He closed his eyes and rubbed them, “No. I wouldn’t take it back.”

Hannibal became imperceptibly gentler with Will after that. His touch, that had ever been tender, was now feather-light. His even-toned voice reduced to a murmur. He murdered the offending physician in an unmistakable act of rage and displayed him on his x-ray table, surrounded by the x-rays of patients he’d been unable to help. His heart, his brain, his two kidneys, his tongue, his liver in beautiful canopic jars beneath each portrait. A tribute to a hungry god.

Getting Will a donor liver would take some doing. As wanted criminals they could hardly use legal means to obtain one. If they turned themselves in, it was unlikely Will would live any longer in prison. There was of course the black market, but even with Hannibal’s exacting specifications, finding an eligible match was next to impossible.

They rented out a loft in Mexico, close enough to the border to make easy transportation, if necessary. Hannibal collected necessary equipment to perform the surgery himself. And, despite his best efforts, Will’s home began to feel like a hospital.

“You’re looking lean, I’ll have to stop feeding you sausages and find easier to digest proteins,” Hannibal smiled thinly, stroking Will’s wrist as they lay together in bed.

Will took a long look at the dark circles under Hannibal’s eyes, the silver scruff creeping up his face. He took his hand and leaned forward to kiss him, “Take care of yourself, Hannibal.”

“Me? I’ve survived much worse than this. I have made it my policy to greet Death on my own terms, not his,” Hannibal kissed him sweetly.

Will sighed. Hannibal talked like nothing was wrong, but the lines in his face were deepening. The worry was getting to him. The pain was getting to him.

A match, at last!

Will snorted from the surgery table, “It wasn’t so long ago that you were putting blades in my belly without me even having to ask you,” he grinned.

“If only I had thought then about what good it would do you,” Hannibal smirked, but his eyes were cold.

Will murmured before going under, “Nice, clean cuts, I’m counting on you. Give me a scar that heals.”

Hannibal looked at Will’s wan face, his bony ribs, the faint discoloration in his skin. He would cut disease out of Will as he had cut inhibition from him. He had brought this out in Will, he must be able to take it away.


	2. Madancy, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 09/09/15
> 
> Prompt by openheart_wickedmind (OpenHeart_WickedMind)  
> 13\. Co-Stars AU = Mads and Hugh
> 
> RPF (Real Person Fiction)  
> Pairing: Mads/Hugh  
> Rated: G because this was before I knew Mads and Hugh knew each other from WAY back so I treated it as a first meeting so... enjoy it anyway

“I’d love Will Graham, yeah,” Hugh said when NBC offered him the role, “who’re you getting for Hannibal?”

“Not sure yet, he’s difficult to cast, as you can imagine,” David Slade said, flipping through some headshots. 

Bryan leaned forward, “What about Mads Mikkelsen?”

David and Hugh looked up curiously.

“Well, he’s Danish, he’s creepy, experienced with villains, at least state-side. And he looks damn fine in a suit,” Bryan smiled looking between them, “What do you think?”

“Mads… wasn’t he the big bad in Casino Royale?” Hugh asked.

“Mmmm, could work, could work,” David muttered, pulling out the picture of an obscenely well-dressed man with a relaxed, but reserved air. 

Hugh only had to take one look and knew he could work with this guy. He nodded, “I want to read with him.”

Mads was flown to LA within the week. He arrived at the studio still in his travel clothes (some unflattering, lumpy grey sweats and worn t-shirt), sunglasses, and a beer in hand.

“Hello, you must be Hugh,” he grinned widely, shaking his hand vigorously.

“A pleasure,” Hugh smiled in return. He loved the accent already.

Mads withdrew a very bent and folded script from a pocket and unrolled it, smoothing its pages. Hugh raised an eyebrow, unfolding his own carefully stapled copy, but said nothing as he sat down.

“So, Hannibal Lecter, it’s been awhile since anyone’s taken a crack at him,” he bounced into the chair next to Hugh, pushing his sunglasses up his forehead and scanning the first page.

“Think you’d like to give it a shot?” Hugh wondered, testing the waters.

Mads looked up from under his fringe of greying hair and grinned slyly, “Oh yes.”

This bright, bouncy suburban dad was not what Hugh was expecting. Maybe the camera had lied to him, or maybe Mads was just that good…

Bryan called their attention to the script, filling in for Jack Crawford (it would be some time before they could pin down Lawrence).

Mads cleared his throat abruptly while Bryan set the scene, but then didn’t make a sound. He kept his eyes on the paper, focused, tight.

Bryan spoke neutrally, letting the actors do their job, “…Some genius in Duluth PD took a photo of Elise Nichols with his cell phone, shared it with his friends, and then Freddie Lounds posted it on TattleCrime.com”

“Tasteless,” Hugh muttered with contempt, his American accent already refreshed and ready to go.

“Do you have trouble with taste?” the tone of Mads voice made him look up. 

Mads was suddenly very still, very much in control. The roomy, comfortable clothes even seemed not to go with the rest of him anymore, like a shabby disguise for a powerful object. There was a smile in his voice but not on his face. He was looking straight at him.

Hugh found it hard to meet his gaze, “My thoughts are not often tasty.”

“Nor mine, no effective barriers.”

“I build forts.”

“Associations come quickly,” the careful balance between lighthearted teasing and competent probing was exact and effortless.

“So do forts.” 

It was like Mads had become a different person. His seamless transformation challenged Hugh to elevate his own performance, to refuse to let Hannibal control the conversation by default, to force him into manipulation.

Hugh looked at Bryan only for a split second, but it was enough to know they both felt it. This was Hannibal, there would be no one else.

“Well, I think that went well,” Mads said at the end of the reading, all languid gestures and toothy smiles again. He expertly drained his beer, untouched this whole time.

“Yes, I think you could say that,” Hugh returned, trying not to sound breathless.

Mads glanced at him and looked humbled for a moment before saying, “I’ll be in LA for the week, give me a call when you know.”

As soon as Mads had left, Hugh demanded, “I want him.”

Bryan laughed, “I called his agent during the break, he’s all yours.”


	3. Hannigram, T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 09/29/15
> 
> Prompt via darkdreamsofhannigram, someone wrote a really great headcanon about Hannibal showing Will Florence on the back of his motorcycle. So it wasn't directly a prompt I just... had to write about it.
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rated: T for adult-type touching that doesn't quite merge into real porn

Hannibal had handed him a black helmet. He’d said “get on, I want to show you Florence.” He’d said “Hold on tight.” Foolishly, Will thought he’d been exaggerating.

Will’d had a motorcycle back in Mississippi. A ten year old bike with rusted body and worn tires, but it still ran. It was a labor of love, since it couldn’t go a month without needing new brake pads or the transmission flushed. But it was worth it to be independent, to ride out into the night with nothing but open air around him. He’d had to give it up when he joined the force and hadn’t been on one in many years, but he still remembered the thrill of freedom.

The thrill of riding a motorcycle with Hannibal was of a different sort, but nonetheless potent.

Will clung to Hannibal’s middle as the whizzed through the dark, cobbled streets. He had just time to note an historic landmark or beautiful avenue before they were almost upon another. Hannibal flew recklessly over turns, leaning into them to let the bike pull along the brick-laid paths. Will scooted up close, leaning with him, remembering the physics of this. If they leaned with the bike, then gravity saw them as one entity, they rolled on the same surface tension the wheels did and they could glide almost over the ground frictionlessly. If they remained upright, the bike became ungainly, being pulled in different directions, losing speed and stability.

It made him gasp as the city lights blurred past them. They swung under streetlamps and through piazze, stealing in like night itself and vanishing just as quickly.

The wind and chill night air seeped into his clothes, over his skin, digging deeper. Will pulled himself closer and leaned his cheek against Hannibal’s leather jacket. He was warm and solid, black as pitch, but no longer shadow. Will could hold him now. He swallowed as his groin connected with Hannibal’s rear as they went over a loose cobble. He was unhelpfully reminded of how much he _liked_ holding Hannibal, grasping him, touching him.

The wind hissed at him, chafing his face. He hid it in Hannibal’s shoulder and could smell the richness of Hannibal’s musk just under the heavy swathe of animal hide and oil. His arms tightened around Hannibal’s waist. The eyeless visor in front of him shifted downwards and the motorcycle clicked down a gear abruptly, causing Will to collide suddenly into Hannibal’s back again.

Will’s thighs tensed against the impact and he glared at the back of Hannibal’s helmet, tempted to think he did that on purpose. As if he could hear the chastising, Hannibal pointed up at the red light they had to brake for. Will couldn’t believe that even the traffic was on Hannibal’s side.

Will shifted his arms for a moment, but the motorcycle growled threateningly. He did it again and his lips quirked at the corresponding rev. Hannibal was none too subtle, sometimes. And he was a greedy, greedy man.

Will squeezed him tight, almost pulling Hannibal from his seat and when the light turned they took off like a rocket, almost leaving the ground. Will had to cling to Hannibal for dear life. He dug his fingers willingly into Hannibal’s leather jacket, but he desired the hot, live, real man beneath it. Sometimes his fingers hesitated, incredulous, surprised what they touched was not smoke at all, but caged fire.

Hannibal slammed on the brakes as hard as he had hit the gas earlier. Will’s legs tensed around him and Will could almost hear the pleased sound he made. He wished that visor wasn’t in the way, that he could whisper in Hannibal’s ear all the terrible things he wanted from him in the quiet, innocent streets of Florence. And yet, Hannibal still seemed to know, though no word was ever spoken. Perhaps he desired them too.


	4. Hannigram, T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10/28/15
> 
> Prompt by unnaturalredhead  
> "okay but how much do you wanna bet that Hanni has a huge thing for Will with wine stained lips bc he has that snow white thing going on with the dark curls and dark lashes and porcelain skin and big blue eyes omg"
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rated: T for suggestive wine drinking

“Merlot as an after-dinner drink? That’s not like you Hannibal,” Will smirked, nonetheless accepting the long-stemmed glass.

Hannibal tutted, “You assume that because we are drinking after dinner that this is an after-dinner drink.” He lowered himself into the armchair across from Will, expertly balancing the glass so that the liquid barely moved. The space next to Will on the love-seat looked mournfully empty, but he had particular reason for facing Will head on tonight.

Will raised an eyebrow, nearly disappearing into his lopsided curls. “Then this is?” he asked, taking a thoughtful sip of the red wine. A small drop, the color of ripe blackberry, dropped onto his lower lip and his tongue obediently licked it up. Clever as Will’s tongue was, and Hannibal knew _that_ certainly well enough by now, it was not able to catch all of the liquid and it left perfect, dark rivulets in the cracks of Will’s lip, starting to add color to that articulate mouth of his.

Hannibal carefully exhaled, trying not to let Will notice he’d been holding his breath during that focused performance. He slid his eyes to the carpet, contemplating its uninteresting, solid beige color, buying time to answer his question. 

“Accompaniment,” he finally answered, “the perfect accent to offset an unconventional beauty.” Hannibal met Will’s eyes as he took a long draw from his glass.

“Are you talking about me or the future?” Will needled, swirling the wine around the bowl of the glass, watching the water line slowly fall back to the meniscus. 

Hannibal smirked, “Both. The future has always had an unconventional beauty, though…” Hannibal glanced away, cocking his head thoughtfully, “You, on the other hand, are newly unconventional.”

Will stopped his rotating hand and looked up at Hannibal, eyes widening, “Is that so? Why, Dr. Lecter, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were flirting with me.”

It wasn’t a question. Will drank deeply from his glass, maintaining eye contact with Hannibal. He let a stream of wine dribble from his lips, down his chin, dripping with satisfying regularity onto his chest and collar. As soon as the stream started though, it ended with Will setting the glass away. He sighed, parting his lips. In the low light, his mouth looked dark and wet, succulent, enticing. His lips, those sweet, pale lips, that Hannibal had kissed many times before, were stained red with life.

Hannibal’s mouth stretched into a wide smile, full of shining, gleaming teeth. “Am I not? Then I must make myself more plain,” and with a swift movement, he was devouring his beloved with lips red as cherries.


	5. Spacedogs, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11/06/15
> 
> Prompt by me, I just wanted to join Spacedogs
> 
> Spacedogs-verse (Adam/Charlie Countryman)  
> Pairing: Adam/Nigel  
> Rated: G for first meeting

America was not perhaps the most sensible place in the world to run to. He didn’t have a ready made foothold in the political system since he didn’t know anyone there. And starting a new crime syndicate would be difficult with so much territory already occupied. He could join, but at his age, with his expertise? No, no. He wouldn’t stand the disrespect. Maybe a new line of work then, if one could be had…

The good news about America though was it was densely populated. And people always needed little jobs done that they didn’t want on the books. Nigel was good for that. So maybe, America was not such a terrible place to go after the hot water with Gabi and Darko. 

He’d managed to obtain a work visa for 6 months, legal and all. He figured that would give him enough time to get his foot in the door somewhere. After that… who knows.

He’d found a little flat in New York, quiet, clean. It was nothing like home. No broken bottles and piss on the front step. There were still sirens every night, sometimes he’d wake up in a cold sweat hearing one close by and couldn’t go back to sleep. But there were far fewer gun shots. Less crying in the night. He supposed this was what people called ‘the good life’.

Nigel walked back to his apartment building one autumn morning. The weather was good and transport was so fucking expensive here, better to walk. He stood outside, leaning against the quaint little gate outside and lit a cigarette. He wasn’t alone, a young man was sitting on the steps up to the front door, taking no notice of him, but intently watching the street.

Nigel looked at him curiously, following his eyes, wondering why he focused so hard on the people going by. No spy or assassin ever looked like that, it was a dead giveaway. And this boy didn’t look like he could handle killing a mouse much less anything else. What could possibly interest him so much?

“Hey,” he called out.

The young man’s head shifted in his direction but he didn’t make eye contact.

“Hey, you on the steps,” Nigel tried again. 

“Hmm-mmm?” he looked up, genuinely surprised, as if he really hadn’t heard him the first time.

“What are you looking at that captures your interest so completely?” Nigel leaned over the fence, folding his arms.

“Oh, um, people,” the man nodded, eyes darting around, then shifting back to his primary focus.

“People, huh? You like people watching?” Nigel invited himself over, sitting down next to him.

“Y-Yes, I do,” the young man returned hesitantly, again, not looking at Nigel.

Nigel took a long drag from his cigarette and looked at the young man carefully. Up close he could see the intensity was brought on by an overall nervous disposition rather than an inherent passion for his activity. He had no aim in watching these people other than to watch them. 

“Mind if I sit here and watch people with you?” Nigel asked, eyes on him rather than the people.

He shook his head, “No, no. That’s okay.” There was a brief smile. So the man did _have_ emotions, he just didn’t understand them very well. His smile though encouraged Nigel that conversation might be possible.

Nigel at last turned his attention from the man to the people walking past. They were mostly boring, unattractive, nothing unusual. One guy picking his nose. Another clearly hungover. Two men offered a surreptitious look at a third lady’s ass when she walked by. Nigel chuckled.

“What are you laughing at?” his companion asked, turning to look at him for the first time.

Nigel sat up and scooted closer, “Well, did you see those two men who just walked by?” He pointed to them lazily.

The man nodded, “Did they do something funny?”

“Well, they thought that redhead with the cherry-shaped ass was very attractive, so when she walked passed them, they looked back at her over their shoulder to check her out. They thought they were being sneaky, but we saw, didn’t we, hey?” Nigel grinned, tapping his shoulder, “That’s why I laughed.”

The man frowned, squinting, “Why is that funny?”

Nigel looked up, surprised, then furrowed his eyebrows, trying to think how to explain. “Mmm… it’s funny because it was predictable. Well, for me it was predictable that they would check her out. And it was predictable that they would try to be sneaky about it, but that failed.”

The man thought about it carefully, “I’m confused, was it that they were predictable or their failure that was funny?”

“Both,” Nigel took another drag, “I would never be so obvious.” He grinned to himself.

“Oh,” the man sounded disheartened and looked away, tightening his arms around his knees, “I’m always obvious.”

Nigel blinked and cocked his head, “Are you?”

The man shifted uncomfortably, his whole body tightening. Nigel frowned.

“I uh, I h-have Asperger’s syndrome. I don’t… communicate feelings the way NTs, neurotypicals, do. I can only say what I feel, exactly what I feel. I- I don’t say things I don’t mean or use metaphors or things like that. So what I s-say is always just… what is,” the man swallowed and kept licking and chewing his lips as he spoke.

Nigel nodded, “I heard of that. You seem alright though. And not funny.”

The man looked up, “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

Nigel smiled, “I know. I mean, you seemed worried that I would laugh at you because I thought you were obvious. I’m not laughing at you.”

“Oh. Okay,” the man relaxed a little again, sitting more upright.

Nigel stuck his cigarette between his lips and held his hand out, “I’m Nigel, I live downstairs, in 1B.”

The man took it, grasping his hand firmly and shaking it once, “I’m Adam. I live upstairs, in 2A.”

Nigel smiled, “Good.”

Adam frowned, “Why is that good?”

“Because now that we’ve been introduced we can see more-” Nigel paused and rephrased, “see each other more often and watch people together. Would you like that?”

Adam smiled, briefly, but it was a smile, “Okay.”


	6. Spacedogs, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11/06/15
> 
> Prompt by me, trying to do more Spacedogs
> 
> Spacedogs-verse  
> Pairing: Adam/Nigel  
> Rated: G for music is nice

He’d found a job. He was a transporter, like in those flashy Jason Statham movies. The real thing wasn’t nearly as prestigious as Hollywood wanted to show it, but he got paid well and got to carry a gun again. It felt comforting, the solid weight of a firearm in his hand again. It was absurdly easy to obtain guns in America, much more variety and stock than in Romania. So far he’d only acquired a sawed off shot gun and two Romanian handguns, more for his own pleasure than need. He kept the shotgun under his bed, the handguns in his locked trunk, taking them out when he was on a job. No one said anything, perhaps they thought him prudent.

Still, he found himself homesick, yearning for the violence he knew, for the places where he mattered. He missed his corner cafe with the good coffee and better music… his beautiful Gabi and her cello.

Nigel leaned back on his bed under the open window, sunlight streaming in. He closed his eyes, listening to strings play their hearts out. He could almost pretend he was back at home, on a quiet afternoon, when everything was perfect…

“Nigel!” someone was rapping on his door, “Nigel!”

Nigel opened his eyes reluctantly and stood with a sigh.

“Yeah?” he said, swinging the door open. Adam stood there, standing stiffly and pointed as usual. “Adam,” Nigel’s eyes widen in surprise, “hello, what brings you here?”

“Your music’s very loud. I can hear it through the grating upstairs,” Adam pointed upwards.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Nigel moved away from the door, walking to turn down the volume being pumped through his laptop to a set of impressive speakers, “I was just reminiscing…” he sighed.

“It’s Winter, Largo movement, composed in 1723 by Antonio Vivaldi,” Adam said from the doorway.

Nigel looked up, blinking slowly, “You know a lot about music,” he grinned, straightening up.

Adam shook his head, “No, I’ve just heard that before. When I hear music I like, I like to look it up and learn about it.”

Nigel smiled softly, then noticed Adam hadn’t entered the room. “Come in, please! Don’t stand there like you’re unwanted,” he beckoned him forward.

Adam stepped inside obediently, “I didn’t want to be rude.” 

Nigel shook his head, “You have very little chance of ever offending me, Adam. Come over here, come. Tell me, what kind of music do you like?”

“Um… I like anything really, but uh, I prefer music without words,” he swallowed, “Lyrics are… often metaphorical and I can get confused trying to understand them.”

Nigel smiled, “I like music without words too. Sometimes you don’t need words, right?” 

Adam looked up and smiled widely, “Yes. Yes, I think so.”

Nigel’s eyes crinkled, it was good to see the boy relax for a minute.

“Would you like something to drink?” he offered, moving to the kitchen.

“Uh just water, please,” Adam replied, glancing towards him, then looking around the room.

Nigel ran him a glass of tap water and was going to get himself a beer, then decided water wasn’t so bad.

“Are you Romanian?” Adam asked suddenly.

Nigel looked up and saw Adam was looking at the Romanian flag on his wall.

“I am,” Nigel smiled, coming back with the two glasses.

Adam took the glass and gulped a huge mouthful.

Nigel continued when Adam didn’t ask, “I’m here on business, but I plan to go back one day.”

Adam looked at him, “How soon will that be?”

Nigel shrugged, “No idea. There’s um… a little bit of trouble that’s preventing me from going back home. I’ll go back when that trouble is sorted out.” He looked over at Adam and frowned thoughtfully, licking his lips, “I will tell you, if you like, when I know.”

Adam exhaled deeply, relieved, “That would be good, thank you. I uh… get anxious about change. Change is hard. I don’t… don’t…”

Nigel nodded and softly interrupted, “I don’t like change either. I wasn’t very happy about having to come here. But it’s not so bad.”

“That’s good,” Adam nodded, finishing his water, “Thank you for the water. I should go back now.” He handed Nigel the empty glass.

Nigel took it and followed him to the door, “Adam, would it be alright if I come say hello to you from time to time?”

“Uhhh… from time to time… when?” Adam hesitated, growing stiff and fidgety again.

“Twelve o’clock, tomorrow?” Nigel offered.

“I can’t, I’ll be at work,” Adam responded quickly.

“Well when do you get off work?”

“Six.”

“I’ll come by at six then.”

“Why, I won’t be home until six thirty.”

Nigel couldn’t help laughing.

Adam frowned at him, “What… what are you…”

Nigel shook his head quickly, “When I asked when do you get off work, I meant when is the earliest you will be home so that I can see you.”

“Oh… oh!” this time Adam needed no further explanation and smiled, “Six thirty, then.” 

Nigel nodded, “I’ll be there. Have a good day, Adam!” He waved to him as he walked away.

“You too,” Adam mumbled, already focused on what he had to do next.


	7. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11/19/15
> 
> Prompt by me, for Hannibal Advent, Day 3: "Potage"
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rated: G for loving stalking

> Flash Forward: _Relevés_
> 
> “Where was Will the night Marissa Schurr was killed?”  
>  “He was supposed to be in his hotel room. I knocked on his door, he didn’t answer.”

That much was true. Hannibal had knocked and Will didn’t answer because he’d been asleep. Hannibal had watched him, snoring peacefully, breathing regular under the unfamiliar hotel sheets.

It had been merely a whim to look in on him before going to take care of Marissa. But Will was such a curiosity to him, his fancy grew to desire and then to action. How did Will sleep? Troubled, Hannibal would have thought. He was a man unsure of himself, unable to reconcile what he was with what he wanted to be. No one could sleep well with such a tenuous sense of self. Any dream would be fraught with uncertainty and anxiety.

But he was quiet, peaceful, his curls neatly framing his face, one shoulder tucked against the pillow. It would have been a pleasure to draw him like this, still and soft, nothing like how he was in life. But the room was far too dark and the chances of Will spotting him too great. He would save this moment in his mind palace, filing it away in his room of inspiration. Will with eyes shut was such a different picture. He looked almost… normal like this, innocent, boring. There was no sense of his keen analysis, his fiery imagination; no trace of the madness just beneath. Nothing but the smell gave him away.

Will had worked so hard at cultivating an image of normalcy. He was a perfect mimic, to the point Hannibal almost felt envious. But at what cost? Will had pruned himself and shrunk himself down to the size of a normal person. He had normal tastes, he wore normal clothes. His chief descriptor was nondescript. He didn’t let anything in his presentation range beyond the accepted and the polite. And he was miserable, like someone forced to walk a desert mile in shoes too small. 

Hannibal could smell that too: his ache, his longing, his complete bitter disregard for this petty world. It was a shame Will was working so hard at running from himself. Did he really not know how much happier he would be if he stopped running? What made him cling to a sense of morality that bent and broke him to this twisted shape? 

Hannibal stroked his lips, leaning back in his chair. Maybe… Will didn’t know how beautiful he was yet. He had called killing the ugliest thing in the world. The words rang false, even with Will’s desperate sincerity. He was scared. Because it had felt good. He was scared that if he did it again… he wouldn’t stop. 

The image of unbroken Will, triumphant and free, flashed before his eyes and a gloating smile spread over his face. He would give Will this. He would rob him of his morality. It was a wet blanket in the wide, open dark. But Will needed to understand he need not fear the dark when he could own it, become it. Will would become…

Hannibal paused as Will shifted in his sleep, hyper alert once again. Will’s placid expression had changed, a deep frown coming over him, sweat breaking out on his skin. He rolled and groaned, the nightmare taking over.

“Shhh shhh shh…” Hannibal stood, buttoning his coat and preparing to leave. He had another gift for Will before the night was out and he hadn’t even done his shopping yet. He passed his fingertips over Will’s warming forehead and allowed himself to stroke one curl, just once. Will’s breathing paused, then came out in a soft sigh, the cool touch soothing. 

Hannibal backed away and returned to the door, Will’s scent and sweat clinging to his skin. That scent, oh, that odor: madness, persistence, misery, and longing… what a heady cologne. How could he ever resist.


	8. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11/26/15
> 
> Prompt by me, for Hannibal Advent, Day 9: "Trou Normand"
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rated: G for reluctant boyfriends

> _“What we are doing here is the right thing.”_

The words squirmed down Will’s throat, cold and clammy, curling up in a sickening pit there. Hannibal’s platitudes felt as empty and untrue as syllogism in Catholic school or those awful, uncritical proverbs. The right thing, the right thing… if Will believed that, would he be here begging Hannibal to tell him it wasn’t true?

Will blocked out Hannibal’s false words and turned back from the window with a dead eye. He slid into his favorite chair and was gratified by its soft, death-like groan. At least the furniture had the decency to reflect his feelings in sympathy. Couldn’t say the same for Hannibal, honestly. He was being cagey and upright in the most annoyingly pragmatic way possible.

Will knew that, as ever, Hannibal’s heart was in the right place, but right now the last thing he wanted was to see sense. Right now all he wanted was to wallow in the feeling of how hopeless the whole world was, that nothing good could ever last.

He rubbed his face slowly, massaging the bags under his eyes. God, he needed a break, but it didn’t look like one was coming. He’d almost fallen asleep on the road and honestly he may not make it back home tonight, the weight of this revelation was pinning down his already sluggish mind. Maybe Hannibal had a hideaway bed in his office… no, surely not, Hannibal’s good taste would die of shame. Scratch that then.

Glass was touching his fingertips and Will blinked, looking down to see Hannibal nudging a generous glass of whiskey into his hand. Will took it numbly and downed half of it in one swallow. He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly against the merciless burn. Mmm, it was a damn fine blend, wouldn’t have taken Hannibal for a whiskey man though.

Will opened his eyes to see Hannibal was indeed not. The man was standing close by with his preferred drink of cognac in hand. In the low light, the liquid looked mahogany in color, almost black when Hannibal brought it to his lips to drink and it was cast in perfect shadow.

“Thank you,” Will grumbled belatedly. Hannibal gave him a courteous nod, forgiving the lapse in manners.

Will sighed, standing, even as he felt inertia pulling him back down, and trudged towards Hannibal’s drinks cabinet, “Any interest in getting black-out drunk with me tonight?” Will offered.

Hannibal’s lips smacked as he considered the proposition. “Not tonight, I think, but I’d be happy to furnish you with at least another round in company.” Will could hear him drawing closer as he rummaged around, looking for whatever bottle Hannibal had poured from.

“I can’t control your actions once you leave my office, but I would not recommend continuing drinking tonight at a local pub,” Hannibal continued, voice soft and near.

Will grunted, shrugging off Hannibal’s half-conciliation. He fully intended to get fall down drunk tonight after learning the poor girl he’d saved had taken after her father.

Will squeezed his eyes shut, angry at himself for even thinking that; Abigail was not her father, she would never be her father, it was wrong to think of her like that. But Will knew self-defense wounds and Nick Boyle was not an accidental death. He would never really know what happened that night and truthfully he didn’t really want to. But Abigail had… killed. And there was no escaping that knowledge.

Will was going to have to come to terms with that, but he wasn’t going to start tonight. So Hannibal was going to have to do a lot better than pretty words to talk him out of drinking himself to death.

Hannibal’s hand was at his shoulder again as he tentatively said, “I would offer you a place at my home tonight, instead, if that would comfort you.”

Will gave up his search and straightened, glancing critically over his shoulder at Hannibal.

“You shouldn’t be driving, Will. You look exhausted and alcohol will only depress you further. Please, I cannot allow you to go home alone,” Hannibal dropped his hand, looking dutifully chastened and politely worried for his safety.

Will didn’t respond, his thirst for whiskey growing more frantic under the tension in the room. At last he spotted it, on the mantle. Hannibal had left it out, knowing he’d want more. Will couldn’t help relaxing slightly and softening toward Hannibal. Hannibal was trying to help after all, he did care.

Will unscrewed the cap and poured a hefty quantity into his tumbler, sloshing against the sides. It was enough to make Hannibal worry, Will could feel him anxiously watching in case a drop was spilled. Will couldn’t really be bothered to care though, suddenly stopping his pour and knocking back the whole glass in one long, brutal drink.

It wasn’t enough. He kept pouring and kept drinking, leaning on the mantelpiece. There was no fire in the grate; it wasn’t nearly cold enough yet. Will couldn’t help but thrill at the irony, he came here seeking comfort and there was none to be found, no fire to warm his bones, no reassurance to cradle him.

Still, it was better here than being alone, sick with the knowledge of his revelation. Here, there was someone to stop him from going too far. Here, there was someone to worry over his self-destructive habits. He was grateful for that and for Hannibal’s careful distance. He could feel the man peering at him, tense, ready to jump at the first sign of his hand slipping on the bottle or his body losing control. Will thought about petulantly spilling onto the carpet, but it wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t Hannibal’s fault the truth was so ugly.

The bottle felt unexpectedly light in his hand and, looking at it blearily, Will realized he’d downed half of it in a few strokes of the clock. He reeled, gasping, and fell into the closest chair by the fire. Hannibal rushed over, an eye on the open bottle, but didn’t draw near enough to touch.

“You know what… the wors’ part is?” he slurred slightly, feeling a tad out of practice with his heavy drinking, “she couldn’ tell me.”

Hannibal sighed, sitting across from him and pulling his chair up close, “She was afraid of what you would think. That you would disapprove, like you are doing.”

“But she could confide in you?” Will glared at him, even as he swayed slightly, his eyes stayed angrily fixed on Hannibal.

“I was there,” Hannibal smiled apologetically.

“I jus’ want to help!” Will snapped, tears pricking his eyes, “I just want her to be hones’ with me… I can’t help if she won’ tell me…” He leaned forward, hands clasped hard around his glass. His vision blurred, the tears thick, but not falling.

“I know you do,” Hannibal replied soothingly, “I know you want to help Abigail. I do too.” He reached out and laid a hand over Will’s and for the first time all night, Hannibal’s touch didn’t make him feel sick. He was warm and reassuring, as if his big hands could lift all his problems off his shoulders and make them go away.

Will looked up at him again, the fat, wet tears rolling down his cheeks unheeded. “Why does she lie to me?” he whispered. If Will wasn’t sleep deprived and on a bit of a binge, he wouldn’t be saying these things. But right now every bruise felt like an open sore and every care held the weight of the world and he just wanted the little questions answered simply and neatly and put aside.

Hannibal’s face swam between the tears, full of concern and compassion, “You see her at her best, Will. She doesn’t want you to have to see her at her worst.” His warm thumb stroked over the back of his hand and somehow, this was making it all better. Even though it was only confirming what he feared the most, somehow having Hannibal to confide in made it all better.

Will swallowed thickly and wiped away his tears with his sleeve, then, reluctantly dislodging one of his hands, lifted his glass to his lips and drained the last few comforting, warming drops. He kept his other hand under Hannibal’s, his steady, warm touch an anchor in this emotional maelstrom.  

He set down the glass and leaned back dizzily in his chair, staring up at Hannibal’s darkened ceiling, hoping to see answers or the light or just a rewind button. There was none of that, only shadow.

Hannibal stood up and the absence of his touch made Will sit up too, for a moment a cold panic of loneliness came over him before he could register Hannibal’s proximity properly again.

“Let me call you a cab back to Virginia,” Hannibal sighed, stepping forward towards his telephone.

“No!” Will blurted out, starting to reach for him. Hannibal paused, turning back to him quizzically.

“I’ll go home with you… it’s way too long a drive back to Virginia,” Will yawned, “I’d fall asleep on the ride there and by the time I got there, I’d just have to come back anyway… take me home, Dr. Lecter,” Will sighed the last, barely audible.

Hannibal stepped back over and between slow blinks Will found his hand stretched towards him to help him up. Will took it and lurched forward. Hannibal quickly moved to support him before walking to his desk to collect his jacket and keys. Will watched him, cool, calm, collected. Unhurried by fell circumstance, untouched by grief.

If Hannibal had any struggles over this happening, Will could never tell. Except that Hannibal did care for Abigail, that was the one thing Will was sure of. Hannibal might feel totally at home hiding a body, he might feel no trace of guilt over knowing Abigail had killed, but these offenses Will was more than willing to forgive in the face of Hannibal’s fierce protection of her. Will could forgive him anything for that.


	9. Will/Nigel, T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11/26/15
> 
> Prompt by me, for Hannibal Advent, except not really because I go REALLY AU with this one, but technically, Day 10: "Buffet Froid"
> 
> Zombieland-verse (a very accommodating verse allowing actually for a Hannibal/Charlie Countryman crossover to happen... just, trust me, you'll see)  
> Pairing: Will/Nigel  
> Rated: T for Nigel being a seductive motherfucker who can't resist blue eyes that know how to handle a gun

There was someone in the store. No one had dared enter for some time. Nigel had the sense not to hope it was a person, but he didn’t look forward to zombie clean up either.

Grabbing his whiskey and taking a fortifying swig, he jumped out of his chair with his sawed-off shotgun, stomping off towards the sound.

“I know you can’t fucking understand me,” Nigel called out, stalking the aisles like an apex predator, gun at the ready, “but you’ll make this a lot fucking easier for me if you follow the sound of my voice.” He turned sharply into canned food straight into a gun barrel.

His face barely betrayed surprise before hardening into passive resistance once again. Nigel’s eyes flicked between the business end of the gun and the gun owner standing just behind. There was a steady hand on the trigger, beyond it a frozen snarl, glasses, curls.

“I understand a good deal, as a matter of fact,” the glasses muttered, voice creaking and cracking from lack of use.

Nigel lowered his own gun, previously pointed at the intruder’s chest, and cocked his head, “How the fuck did you get in here?”

The glasses narrowed his eyes and, peering over the rims, drawled, “How do you think?”

Nigel squinted, but then snorted, amused by the pissy response. He tapped the intruder’s barrel with his own, “You mind lowering this? Only I’m beginning to think you intend to fucking shoot me.”

“Strange, as that’s the impression I was trying to foster,” the glasses sniped back, pouty and sour. He then seemed to realize their circumstances and slowly lowered his gun, “Sorry, I’m uh…” he began haltingly, voice creaking worse than ever with his hesitation, “a bit paranoid.”

“You’re only paranoid if they’re not out to get you,” Nigel quipped back, unperturbed by the intruder’s glaringly antisocial mannerisms. “In this day and age,” he continued, pulling a cigarette from his back pocket, “paranoia is fucking survival.” He grinned ruthlessly, cigarette tight between his teeth, ready to be lit.

The glasses had a funny, confused crease between his eyebrows, as if he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to agree with Nigel or not. Nigel looked over at him as he flicked his lighter and the flame caught the paper and tobacco. Normally he wouldn’t do this, but this was the first person he’d seen in a while and he may not have another opportunity to be this generous again so what the heck. He pulled out his near empty pack of cigarettes and offered one to the stranger.

The glasses shook his head, “No, I don’t smoke.”

Nigel coughed a laugh, “It’s the end of the fucking world, do you really think cancer is going to kill you any faster than the fucking zombies?”

This time the glasses took less time to deliberate and just took the offered gift. He leaned over cautiously so Nigel could light him and Nigel got his first real look behind the spectacles. Pale skin, soft lashes, and blue, blue eyes, like a calm sea. The intruder looked up at him suddenly, uncomfortable under his stare, and looked away quickly. Nigel just kept staring, such big beautiful eyes, such a cold, hard grip on the gun… he was gorgeous.

The glasses took a long draw from the cig, cheeks hollowing, and the smoke came out in silvery plumes from his nose. Perfect and beautiful.

Nigel raised an eyebrow, still not having blinked once as he stared at the stranger, “Don’t fucking smoke?”

“I quit,” he admitted guiltily, “years ago.” He offered no further explanation.

Nigel jerked his chin, “Come up to my office.”

The glasses frowned, “Why?”

“Do you have some other pressing engagement you have to fuck off to?” Nigel had begun to notice the way the stranger flinched slightly every time he swore and a little bit of color rose in his cheeks.  He grinned unguardedly, enjoying that faint rose rising in his cheeks.

The glasses cleared his throat, “Point taken,” he gestured with his rifle, “Lead on.”

Nigel plopped into his chair at the office, leaning his shot gun casually against the desk, then throwing his legs up over the top of it, heels resting on a stack of papers. He picked up his half-drained bottle of whiskey from the floor and took a satisfying swallow. 

The glasses sat down hesitantly across from him, taking in the chaotic surroundings with distrust and disdain. He settled into his seat reluctantly, rifle tucked protectively under his arm. After a thoughtful moment drinking in the glasses’ shyness, Nigel reached out, offering him the bottle.

The glasses blinked in surprise, taking a quick sweep around the room, hoping for paper cups Nigel would guess, before taking it and accepting he’d have to actually put his lips on it. Nigel grinned as he clutched the bottle with white knuckles and, with a slight wince at the smell, took a long, worthy swallow.

He had to admit, the glasses wasn’t nearly as innocent or naive as he tried to pretend to be. He was jaded and experienced, just like Nigel. Nigel liked that. He stroked his chin, asking, “So, where you from?” 

The glasses took another smaller sip before answering, “Wolf Trap, Virginia.” He handed the bottle back, not making eye contact. Nigel cocked his head, watching how carefully he avoided facing him, even when addressing him.

“How bad is it out there?” Nigel set the bottle in front of him on the table, off to the side so it wouldn’t block his view of his visitor from Wolf Trap.

The glasses shrugged stiffly, “Not a lot of people, not a lot of zombies. Not a lot of resources either, though, so I had to come out here for supplies.” He looked down, deliberately taciturn.

“You got someone fucking waiting for you or something?” Nigel’s eyes narrowed inquisitively. The man behaved like there was something he needed to get back to and it was bugging the crap out of him.

The glasses looked up, startled, “N-No, no!” he recovered quickly, “You think I would have come alone if I had anyone to look after?”

Nigel cocked an eyebrow, “People are fucking stupid, maybe you’re one of them.”

The glasses just gave him a look as if the insult wasn’t even worth his time to deny. Privately, Nigel thought confidence looked extremely attractive on him.

The glasses shifted, preparing to get up. Nigel couldn’t have that, “What’s the rush? It’s like to can’t fucking stand me.” Nigel looked at him, hard, but nonthreatening. It wasn’t a look it was wise to disregard.

The glasses, however, was proving he wasn’t stupid, not at all. He met the gaze head on and, as Nigel had expected, when he wasn’t trying to escape, his gaze was direct, steady, and strong. The blue of his eyes shone through brilliantly, no glare to interfere, not a quiver nor a hesitation in them.

And yet, glasses looked away first. Nigel frowned, leaning forward before he could stop himself, and the glasses muttered, “It’s my dogs.”

Nigel croaked a laugh, “What the fuck? Did you say your fucking dogs?” 

The glasses shot him a glare and stood up immediately, heading out.

In a flash, Nigel was with him, moving so fast the glasses turned at the touch of air and started at Nigel being the cause. “It’s just you’re keeping fucking dogs during the apocalypse and…”

“Rrraragah,” the unmistakable growl of the zombie came from the far edge of the grocery store and their heads snapped to the direction of the sound.

“You didn’t fucking close your entrance?” Nigel hissed, suddenly furious with the man.

“I didn’t know anyone else was here, did I?” Glasses snapped back, leveling his rifle at the shoulder and taking aim.

Nigel dove back into his office, grabbing his shotgun as his new acquaintance pulled the trigger quick and deadly in rapid succession. The bad news was one dead zombie often drew many more live zombies, as was the case here.

Nigel came back out to see the glasses completely focused, cold and accurate. He lined up head shot after head shot as the raging undead streamed in through the crack in the boarded up windows, a crack growing bigger as hands on the outside prized the brittle wood apart. 

But the glasses just kept firing, on and on, rigid, mechanical, controlled violence. Nigel’s heart twisted watching him, he was so goddamn fucking beautiful and Nigel was positive no one had ever told him that while watching him kill before. Tempted as he was to just stand and watch this majesty of focus, the zombies were starting to get too close for Nigel’s comfort. He stepped in with a resounding boom, blowing away the closest one with a vivid spray of maroon blood across five more. 

Glasses didn’t even flinch at the thunder crack. He just carried on firing with his precise little motions and refusal to show any pleasure or remorse for doing it. Nigel savored the image with a wide, bright smile before turning to his own work and painting this dreary, abandoned canvas an enthusiastic shade of red.

When all was done, they stood panting on the stairway leading up to the office, blood spattered across their faces and clothes, guns hot and smoking in their rubbery grip. 

“Sorry about that,” glasses said, leaning back from the carnage, “I’ll help you-”

He couldn’t finish his sentence because Nigel was grabbing his face and kissing him aggressively. It was an uncompromising, greedy kiss as Nigel nearly slammed him back against the wall, ignoring the glasses’ hot muzzle burning between them. Nigel sucked and bit his lips, not giving the glasses a second to breathe. He was never a man to deny his passions to begin with and the apocalypse had only made him more impatient to get what he wanted.

And glasses, to his delighted surprise, was actually kissing back on instinct. He chewed on Nigel’s lower lip with the same violent desire Nigel felt before realizing what he was doing and shoving him back with the hot piece of iron still in his hands.

“What the fuck was that?” the glasses gasped, glaring at him. 

Nigel just leered at the glasses’ offended, but flushed, open mouth. “I gave you a fucking great kiss.” He looked up into those spectacles and behind them, melted, dark eyes boring into his underneath silver bangs.

“You assaulted me!” the glasses snarled, voice squeaking with indignation.

“You assaulted me back,” Nigel beamed, relaxing into an open posture, leaning against the banister with spread arms and legs, practically begging him for more. “You can do it again if you want revenge…”

The glasses flushed and refused to answer, trailing down the stairs in a hurry.

Nigel stared after him, licking his smug lips slowly, “Did anyone ever tell you how fucking beautiful you are when participating in slaughter?”

The glasses’ stride missed a beat, coming to an unsteady halt in the middle of the store, just beyond the bloodbath, as Nigel meanwhile made his lazy way down the stairs after him.

“Because you are gorgeous,” Nigel continued, stepping nonchalantly over the bodies, “you are so fucking focused, poised and taut like a bowstring. And your eyes are like ice, like bullets themselves, piercing cold and unfeeling into your victims. But your hands are soft on your gun, you squeeze that trigger with just the right amount of force, you know where to put your shots to make it count. No waste. No hesitation.”

The glasses had slowly turned toward him as he spoke, his grip on his rifle now relaxed, hanging languid at his side. Nigel swallowed, taking in glasses’ parted lips, mesmerized, but his eyes were guarded, unsure yet.

“You’re so fucking perfect, standing up there, shooting down anything in your way. You’re cold-blooded, you’re merciless, you’re driving me fucking mad, seeing what you can do,” Nigel ran a thoughtless hand through his hair, riffling it back from his face, breathing heavy. Glasses didn’t waver, didn’t breathe, just waited. Nigel took a step, standing almost nose to nose with him and leaned in to whisper, “You’re a god,” he reached up to brush glasses curls away from his face, behind his ear, “and a killer,” Nigel cupped his cheek with a warm hand, preventing him from turning away in denial, “and I fucking want you.” 

His breath puffed across his face and now glasses was almost leaping into his kiss, snarling hungrily, desperate for that beautiful violence. The zombie apocalypse might be hell on earth but, damn, if it didn’t have its perks too.


	10. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11/28/15
> 
> Prompt by the DVD extras and the near kiss happening. I saw it and wanted to try REALLY hard to capture Hannibal's absolute collapse at the overwhelming sensation of requited love. So I tried and... well, here you go.
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rated: G for the Ripper's heart grew three sizes that day

_“It’s beautiful”_

Will Graham said those words and Hannibal Lecter stopped.

He had been able to predict many things in his life, but never Will Graham. Never this.

 _“It’s beautiful”_ and his heart stopped like a clock winding down to its final tick.

He forgot he had just been shot. He forgot they were both gushing torrents of blood. He forgot the cliff, the rocks, the waves roiling beneath them.

His vision blacked out everything that wasn’t Will. His consciousness had no notion of existence beyond him. He wasn’t sure if he was even breathing, if that even mattered. Will was looking at him in a way he never had before, his blue eyes shining up at him, reflecting all the dark, cold night. Will, coated in blood black as the night they stood in, Will, holding onto him, gripping him, Will who said “ _It’s beautiful,_ ” that it’s beautiful, that he’s beautiful.  

Hannibal felt his lips repeating the words, not quite believing it was real. But the sound, the exact timbre of Will’s voice as he said it, the drenched meaning in it, echoed in in the caverns of his mind. _It’s beautiful, it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful._ So faint, so fragile. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t believe it. Didn’t believe he could hold anything so precious without breaking it.

Will peered up at him, pulling him closer. Hannibal didn’t know what to do; he felt frozen, petrified. What should he do? For the first time in his life he was out of control of the situation, out of his depth, out of ideas. Will’s eyes searched his, lips parted, leaning in like he wanted… something but for the life of him, which there might not be too much of at this point, he couldn’t think of what Will wanted. He could only stare as the gears of his mind iced over, unable to move for fear of destroying what Will had given him.

Will’s eyes drooped, then his face, but he pushed closer. Hannibal managed to tilt his head and he caught a breath of Will’s scent mixing with the blood and he gasped, heart stuttering, lungs trembling as they tried to cope with the terrific fervor inside him even while his body remained motionless. Even if he could move, he had no idea how to express what he was feeling, he couldn’t even name it. Chaos raged inside him, but it wasn’t bloodlust and it wasn’t desire; it was something more, something else, and it was choking him and filling him at the same time.

Will was so close now, almost touching; his forehead almost brushed his lips, his hair softly flitting over his face. Hannibal’s eyes watered; he’d forgotten to blink. He still couldn’t, he would hold onto this whatever it was until the very end. At least the end wasn’t far off now.

There was a pressure on his arm and Hannibal realized Will’s hand was moving, crawling up his arm, grasping onto his shoulder for support. Hannibal could barely keep himself upright, but he was doing his best to stay strong for Will. Will’s touch left flame under his bloody finger prints, spots on his skin Hannibal wished would bruise, scar, cauterize so he could remember that touch forever, look at his skin and see the evidence: the mark of Will Graham left on him for all the world to see. “ _It’s beautiful,_ ” Will would say, “ _it’s beautiful._ ” He wanted to be beautiful to Will.

Will was pitching forward, suddenly, pressing against him and his head connected with his shoulder. A full shock went through his system from the point of contact out to his palms, the soles of his feet, to his bones, his bones, his helpless bones stuck standing there, fearing Will could even hear them creak in want and terror. The tears in his eyes spilled over, running smoothly down his cheek from clear to red to thick, dark crimson before dripping off his chin. Neither he nor Will noticed.

His body swayed, as if caught in a gust of too strong wind and he might have stumbled back, collapsed, but Will kept him pinned there. With a tight hand on his shoulder, Will would not let him back away, would not let him falter, would not let him keep any space between them. Will pressed against him, into him, ever closer, finding his way to Hannibal’s neck and just resting there. He claimed it, claimed him. Hannibal felt claimed. He felt Will’s warm presence, could feel the slight pressure from his rising chest, and the weight of Will’s forehead pressed against his soaring pulse. It pounded so loud in Hannibal’s head, it sounded like the syllable of Will’s name in each gush of blood keeping him alive.

But still Will was not content. Maybe he realized Hannibal couldn’t think to move or maybe he just wanted more, but his hand reached down and took Hannibal’s wrist. Hannibal had only just started to bend towards Will’s head, to rest his cheek against his hair, so softly, so gently. Will’s hand almost on his, leading his touch up and around him, made his lips part over a shuddering breath. His heart gave a painful squeeze, terrified of what Will was doing, was asking of him.

Will took his hand, put it on his waist, and wouldn’t let go until he felt Hannibal’s fingers close onto him. Fingers, hands… he’d almost forgotten how to use them. They were poor, indelicate things to be touching something as beautiful as Will. He couldn’t bear to grasp him the way Will was grasping him. His fingers dug into his shirt, gripping the fabric, clinging with desperation, but not to Will’s body. He hung on as his grip parted the clothing from Will himself, his knuckles faintly brushing against his solidity, but still he would not touch Will more than this, more than these faintest, softest touches, as tender as he knew how to be.

Will had experienced his carnage and called it _beautiful_. All Hannibal could think now was how to live up to the name.


	11. Hannigram, R

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12/04/15
> 
> Prompt by darkdreamsofhannigram  
> "Bottom!Hannibal EXCEPT - Hannibal makes Will use a strap-on and doesn’t let him use his cock to fuck him, just to make him frustrated. Discuss."
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rated: R for Hannibal's whore mouth and the other parts of him that could be described as whorish

There was a gift waiting on the bed when Will got upstairs. Wrapped elegantly, addressed to him in a beautiful script, could only be a surprise from Hannibal. Impatient, Will undid the bow and lifted the lid of the oblong box. On a nest of crushed velvet was an absurdly large, black, vinyl cock, already attached to a belt. 

Will stared at the unorthodox gift and yet, the only thing he could think was ‘It’s in velvet. A giant fucking toy and it’s in velvet. Even his basest instincts, when the rest of us are at our most primal, his fantasies are gilt in gold and silks.’ He replaced the lid as he heard Hannibal’s step on the stair and waited for him to enter the bedroom.

“You opened it without me,” Hannibal observed, eyebrows quirked curiously, expectantly, hand still on the doorknob.

Will lifted the box, shaking it, “You regifting something you got for Alana?” he asked wryly.

“No,” Hannibal’s pout was mortally offended at the accusation, “It’s for you.”

His eyes widened and he spluttered a laugh in surprise, “For me? Well, I thought you knew this, Hannibal, but I’ve already got one,” Will tossed the gift back on the bed, bemused.

“Yes, you have,” Hannibal agreed, stepping further into the room after fully closing the door, and loosening his tie.

Will’s eyes narrowed when Hannibal didn’t continue, “Do you have any… complaints?” 

“No,” Hannibal replied, removing his tie completely and setting it on the dresser. He popped the first button of his collar before sitting down to remove his shoes.

“Then why the…?” Will gestured helplessly at the handsome box containing the lewd instrument.

Hannibal gave Will a very tedious look and sighed in disappointment. Will’s hands clenched at Hannibal’s unbelievable insensitivity.

“While your cock is more than satisfactory, Will, the human body is capable of far greater stimulation than any un-enhanced form could give us. I know myself to be capable of experiencing heightened levels of pleasure when stimulated to extremes,” he removed his shoes and socks as he spoke, addressing himself candidly to the carpet. Hannibal folded his socks neatly and wedged them inside one shoe before continuing, “I wanted to experience that heightened pleasure so I purchased an enhancement tool. So I could share the experience with you.” 

Will could hear the hurt little _‘but you didn’t want it’_ just on the edge of Hannibal’s mind and wanted to punch him in the face for it. _‘More than satisfactory’ ‘far greater stimulation’ ‘enhancement tool’_ Will was almost shaking with anger, but kept it down. 

“You might have asked me if I wanted to indulge you first,” Will snapped. It sounded petty, even to him, but he wasn’t exactly thinking straight at the moment.

Hannibal had put his shoes and socks away and was standing in front of his full-length mirror unbuttoning his cuffs and preparing to remove his coat when Will replied. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I thought you’d like it,” Hannibal’s eyes glanced to his lovingly wrapped and crafted box, then back to Will, before darting away again.

“You thought wrong,” Will snarled bitterly, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed and staring at the beautiful box. 

“So I can see,” Hannibal’s voice had enough bite in it to cause a twinge of guilt in Will’s jealous heart. He took a deep breath and ran his hands over his face, threading into his hair, trying to empty himself of insecurity so he could appreciate Hannibal’s request.

Before he could try to make a less passive-aggressive appeal, Hannibal slid his arms around him and kissed him tenderly when Will looked up in surprise. Hannibal must have been watching him from his mirror, of course he was, Will really shouldn’t be surprised by this.

Will sighed, melting into Hannibal’s lips. He’d come over half-undressed, coat and vest missing, shirt half-unbuttoned. Will slid his arms inside his shirt and wrapped them around Hannibal possessively. It was just what he needed right now, having Hannibal in his arms, Hannibal stroking him, caressing him, making him feel wanted…

“I want you to fuck me, Will,” Hannibal murmured as they broke, his voice unspeakably soft and even. The way Hannibal could say such filth in such an unbroken, unhurried way always drove him mad. Will felt heat rising in his cheeks already. He pulled Hannibal tighter, almost pushing himself into his lap.

Hannibal’s fingers stroked his face, a finger lingering over his jaw, “I want you to fuck me wide open, dripping and loose and empty. I want you to hear me moan for you, beg for you. I want you to stuff me so full I can’t breathe.”

Will groaned and pulled himself onto Hannibal’s lap, clinging to his shoulders. He was panting hard, grinding and bouncing his ass eagerly. Hannibal could be so… he was slow to get going, but when he was turned on he was just… Will couldn’t string a coherent thought together as he kept kissing greedily up and down Hannibal’s lips, jaw, neck.

“More, tell me more,” Will begged between wet, open kisses.

Hannibal reached up, sliding a trail of fire up Will’s spine to loop his long fingers around his neck and pull Will into a deep, burning kiss. “You’ll love seeing me so open you could fist me, Will,” he winked, hand still hot on his neck, unrelenting in their closeness, “you’ll start to wonder if you should try… you’ll start to want to…” Hannibal whispered with a slight whine in his voice and Will could actually feel his erection growing, “with the strap-on you could-”

Whatever lascivious morsel Hannibal was going to say next, Will didn’t hear because he was groaning loudly, hoisting himself off Hannibal, and flopping on the bed pathetically, arms across his face, embarrassingly huge tent in his trousers.

“Do the words “Fuck” and “No” mean anything to you?” Will said from beneath his limbs.

“I could say the same to you.” Hannibal responded somewhere above him, sounding nonchalant as you pleased, the control-obsessed motherfucker. 

But wait, what…? Will sat up. “What, if I don’t fuck you with the strap-on I can’t fuck you at all now?” he squinted, disbelieving at the disheveled Hannibal back in front of his mirror, unbuttoning his shirt calmly, conveniently unaware of the enormous boner sticking out at the front of his pants.

Hannibal glanced at him, eyebrows raised, as if he’d just noticed Hannibal was also the Chesapeake Ripper. His lips quirked slightly as Will’s mouth dropped before turning back to the mirror.

“Oh come on, that’s not fair!” Will cried.

Hannibal snorted. “It’s completely fair, my body, my rules.” He reached for his belt, methodically unbuckling it, unerringly, impossibly steady.

“But…” Will racked his aroused and still jealous brain for some kind of worthy objection.

“I’ll give you until the end of my shower to decide,” Hannibal spoke up, stepping out of his trousers and hanging them up carefully, “if you choose to try it, we can begin immediately. If you choose not to, I will put it away and we’ll say no more about it. But you never get to try it again later if you chose not to now.”

Will glared at him and was tempted to call him childish but at the moment he felt he didn’t really have a leg to stand on in that arena. He huffed, “Fine… end of your shower then.”

Hannibal looked up, beaming, fully naked and fully aroused, “Good.”


	12. Will/Nigel, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12/06/15
> 
> Prompt by me. I don't even remember what I was thinking, why I thought of this. Just do me a favor and go with it again.
> 
> Hannibal-verse w/ Charlie Countryman  
> Pairing: Will/Nigel (implied Will/Hannibal)  
> Rated: G for 2 Hannibals couldn't bear a higher rating

So, Hannibal was the one all along. Hannibal who had the knowledge, the skills, and the opportunity to kill all those people. To kill Abigail. The shock still hadn’t faded. Will sat in his holding cell, staring blankly at the wall, trying to work out why Hannibal had done this. It was almost incomprehensible…

“Hey, you.” Someone across the hall was saying.

Was it just to frame him? Had he been getting too close to catching him? Or was it deeper than that, had Hannibal planned this from the beginning…?

“Don’t fucking ignore me when I’m talking to you,” the voice was louder now, intrusive. Will looked up, shooting a glare at the criminal who wanted a piece of the new guy. He’d been fending off perfectly good people who wanted to condemn him all day, he wasn’t going to be patient with someone who deserved his wrath.

“Did you really eat that little girl?” Will couldn’t see who was speaking; the shadows from the broken lights were too dark. But the speaker must have known Will had turned to look at him.

Will turned back to the wall before answering, “What if I did?”

“Well, wanted to tell the guard to keep my cell warm when I leave, because I’m coming back to wring your fucking neck if you did,” the speaker replied after a pause. There was something about his voice that felt familiar.

Will smiled sardonically, “You should. If I did it, then I’m worse than all of you.”

“But you didn’t.” This time there was no hesitation.

Will’s face dropped, his eyebrows stretching in curious surprise. Every single person he’d talked to today believed he did it, including the man who was actually responsible. But this random criminal who didn’t even know him didn’t believe he’d done it. Will turned slowly and leaned against the bars, “How do you know?”

Strangely, a chuckle greeted his question. “I’ve worked with fucking child killers before. There’s two things they all have in common,” he paused, as if he were counting on his fingers, “first, they all remember what they fucking did, second, none of them fucking regretted it. If you killed that girl, then you’re the best fucking actor I’ve ever fucking seen.”

Will felt his face start to smile, for the first time in a long time, it was surreal feeling. “You don’t believe I was so out of my head I could have committed murder without knowing it?” he pressed, eager for the absolution, the faith in him that he couldn’t find anywhere else, not even in himself.

“Do I look like a fucking psychiatrist? How the hell should I know?” came the smart reply.

Wrong tactic then, Will took a different approach. “You could be, I can’t see you at all where you’re standing.”

Will heard shuffling, a soft groan as the man shifted his weight. He moved towards the bars, into the light, and stopped. Will took a step back. Then another. His heart pounded as he desperately searched for a grip on reality. This couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be happening. Because in the cell across from him stood Hannibal Lecter.

Hannibal, or whatever it was that looked like Hannibal, was taking Hannibal’s shape, narrowed his eyes, regarding him warily. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked, voice coarse and unrefined. Smoker, Will’s brain told him firmly. Hannibal didn’t smoke. As far as he knew anyway.

He gulped, staring wide-eyed at him, “W-Who are you?”

“I’m Nigel,” the man snapped, glaring at him, “Who the fuck are you?”

Will hesitated. Was it possible that Hannibal would still be trying to make him think he was insane? Would he go to these lengths? “Will Graham. You…” Will took a small step forward, needing to watch the apparition’s reactions, “Have you heard of Hannibal Lecter?”

There was no change in breathing or gaze that Will could detect. Nigel, for apparently that was his name, looked at him and shrugged, “Should I have fucking heard of him?”

Not Hannibal himself then. But hallucination was still probable. He had been seeing things that didn’t exist for awhile now. He could call a guard to verify Nigel’s reality for him, but he didn’t really need the whole prison knowing he was insane right now. Least of all Nigel, if he was real, not when he was being so incredibly helpful.

Nigel had his head cocked, squinting at him, “You’ve got fucking problems, man, what’re you fucking on?”

Will blinked, “On? I’m not…” he took a deep breath, ignoring the question, “Say something.”

Nigel snorted, turning away, “You’re fucking out of your mind…”

“Please!” Will’s fists clenched, eyes tracking every movement in the cell across from him, “Say something I couldn’t predict, you don’t… you don’t know how much you could help me.”

There was noise down the hall, the guards coming to make rounds, not good, not good.

Nigel glanced at him over his shoulder. Will didn’t know what he saw, but he must have seen something because Nigel turned back to him, “Your eyes are beautiful. They remind me of the skies at home when I go hunting. Now get yourself to-fucking-gether and don’t say another fucking word to me until after the guards are gone.” Nigel returned to the shadows abruptly, the squeak of his cot saying he’d sat down.

Will panted hard and sat down too, trying to do as he’d suggested. So there was another man in the world who looked just like Hannibal Lecter and he also happened to be the only person who believed he was innocent. Looks like reality was damn hard to believe in after all.


	13. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12/11/15
> 
> Prompt by Kristsune  
> “i slipped on ice outside your house and you ran out barefoot to help me quick let’s get inside under a blanket” 
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rated: G for winter wonderland shenanigans

There was something magical about winter, Hannibal felt. Something about the calm, the stillness, the palpable feeling of nature retreating to lie in wait until spring. The world became a different place, everything camouflaged, everything defensive against the unusually harsh and bitter conditions. This was Hannibal’s favorite time of year. The world was never so familiar to him than when it was fighting for survival against all the odds.

And there was something beautiful about it too. The way the snow glistened in the morning, icicles dripping from every ledge, new tracks on the blanket of white. This was a particularly fine winter morning and he couldn’t resist driving out into the woodlands to winter untainted by the city’s impatience and industry.

He drove out until he could no longer see tire tracks in the snow, until he found winter still untouched, still resting. His car ground to a halt outside the trees and he bundled his scarf tighter around his neck before stepping out. Here the night had been so cold the snow froze over with the morning dew, a thin sheet of ice crunching under his boots before they sank into the powder.

He headed for the trees, wondering what other creatures would share this morning with him. Peering up into the branches, there were no squirrels, the morning was too new and too cold for them to venture out for supplies. There were one or two song birds, squat and fluffy on icy perches, greeting the pale rays of winter sun. Hannibal smiled, admiring the constancy of their praise from season to season. They had to sing, they must. For them, there was no sunrise if there was no song. It was something of a shame humans had deduced the sun would come up whatever they did and had ceased praising the miracle of renewed life each day. Perhaps it would be better to live in ignorance, just this once.

Out here there was no one to rake the fallen leaves into huge piles and cart them off to be turned into fertilizer. They lay strewn, visible, on the high ground, or else buried, wet and cold, under the thick snow. The few on top, half frosted in the night, shivered at his approach. It was satisfying to know the world was aware of him, even in these still places.

As he walked, he soon spotted a clearing between the trees. He stepped toward it, his curiosity caught by the break in the pattern of his surroundings. The trees gave way to a small pond, black and hard. The sun was quickly rising in the sky, its light turning from grey to rose and at last to gold. It caught the shine of the ice and Hannibal had to squint against it, shielding his eyes with one gloved hand.

The solidity of the ice invited adventure, though. Looking down, Hannibal focused on his feet, striding confidently up to the edge, then hesitantly putting a boot out, shaking the soft powder from the toe, before setting it down. The ice gave no response. Hesitantly shifting his weight, he took his other foot and shook the snow from it before setting it on the ice too. So far, so silent.

Trying to lift his feet as little as possible to avoid upsetting his balance, he strode forward. The pond gave no notice that he was even there. Hannibal smirked, pleased to have this rare moment of winter’s perfection all to himself. A few feet away from the edge though and his boots started to slide. He glanced up, remembering the sun’s inexorable climb and the snow still stuck to the bottom of his boots. Melting from the bottom of his boots. He also belatedly remembered the physics of pressure on ice, how it created a thin lubrication of water…

The abrupt sound of a dog bark, loud, close at hand, broke the stillness of the morning, causing Hannibal to jerk up in surprise. Before he could even register the dog, his feet were sliding out from under him, his arms wheeling frantically, but uselessly, to stay upright. And now there was a cacophony of barking, multiple dogs, and someone shouting, “Watch out!” redundantly.

Hannibal landed on his ass with a hard thump, legs half-buckled under him. Unfortunately, his humiliation didn’t end there as his momentum carried him a few feet further over the ice, sliding him towards the slobbering herd of canines that had completely destroyed his morning vigil.

“Hey! Hey! Buster, Winston, get back, c’mon!” The voice that had called out before was calling orders to, presumably, his dogs. Hannibal opened his eyes, still wincing. The bright sunlight on the snow was suddenly painful, and he couldn’t immediately make out exactly how many dogs there were or who was in charge of them, but he knew it was far too many dogs than was sensible.

“Hey, are you okay?” the infamous dog-owner was now at his side, touching his shoulder. Hannibal could feel his shadow in front of his face and was grateful for his positioning if only that now he could open his eyes and glare up at the inexcusably rude caretaker for the pests.

“I am perfectly well,” Hannibal replied sourly, pushing himself upright on his hands, ignoring the sting of where they had braced his fall.

“You’re lucky then, I’ve seen people break their legs walking on ice like you were doing,” the owner chastised, but immediately moved to support Hannibal, putting an arm around his back as he stood, “It’s really unsafe without supervision and even then, blades are much safer.”

Hannibal’s short patience was already halved by embarrassment and this man was doing nothing to assuage him. He shot a deadly look at his rescuer, immediately drawing up recipes that could be modified to include six to ten dogs, but then stopped short when he noticed the man had not bothered to put on shoes before running to his aid.

Hannibal considered the man’s bare feet then glanced back at his face, “But I suppose a trained professional, such as yourself, can walk on ice without protection to no ill affect?”

“What?” the man stared at him blankly, then looked down, apparently noticing the cold for the first time, “Oh! I had just opened the door to let the dogs out, and I saw you about to fall and… well, I was worried it was going to be worse. Are you alright to walk?” The man looked back up at him, still with an arm around him, his concern still with the potentially injured stranger rather than his own immediate potential of frostbite.

Hannibal cocked his head, putting the canine fricassee and forester pot roast on the back burner for the moment. He nodded and took a stiff step forward, refusing to wince even as his hip complained and his back tensed, taking the strain of his injury.

The man stepped close to him, refusing to let him out of arm’s reach. It bristled Hannibal’s pride a little to be coddled like this, but he reminded himself, there was something worth learning about a man who treated heroism so brusquely. He inhaled deeply, curious about what he would find in his scent. There were the dogs, obviously, and the forest, a faint whiff of alcohol, probably scotch, the low burn of sleeplessness, the sharp zing of anxiety, and something else… something new.

Hannibal inclined his head toward the man and was about to ask his name, when a low woof at his knee distracted him and he slipped on the ice again.

“Whoa! Whoa!” the man caught him under the arms, immediately at his side, “Easy on the ice.” He grinned, “You really would have killed yourself if I wasn’t around to save you.” Hannibal inhaled sharply, his lips halfway between a snarl and a pout, but he glared at the offending brindle-colored dog rather than the man confidently pushing him upright and helping him back onto the snow.

The man under his arms whistled and all the dogs perked up. “Go on, back to the house!” he ordered, and to Hannibal’s not small amazement, the herd of annoyances obeyed. This man was becoming more interesting all the time.

“There we go,” he muttered when they were both back on the snow. He released Hannibal and walked out around him, wincing now as he finally became aware of the cold, “I hope you know now why you never go ice skating alone.” He smiled sardonically, his entire face wrinkling with wry pleasure. Strangely, despite the man’s irritating rudeness from the first, Hannibal was finding him… most agreeable.

“Indeed,” Hannibal responded warmly, inclining his head, “But let’s not stand on ceremony saying our goodbyes here. If you don’t get inside quickly, I won’t be the only one in need of medical attention.” He nodded to the purple color of the man’s feet.

The man smirked, self-deprecating, but amused, “Yeah, you’re probably right. Um, do you want to-”

“I happen to be a doctor of medicine,” Hannibal interrupted, smiling slowly, “I wouldn’t dream of letting you go without assuring myself you’d keep your digits.”

The man’s eyebrows rose, “Well. Come in then.”


	14. Hannigram, T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12/16/15
> 
> Prompt by me (with encouragement from Kristsune) mainly because the below picture exists
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rated: T for really, really obvious seduction

“So that’s… drunk and disorderly, public urination, and indecent exposure,” the young officer was reciting, ticking off the charges in his notebook. He glanced up, face self-assuredly neutral, almost smug, “I’ll be taking you in now.”

Hannibal, posing as a homeless drunk, regarded him from beneath his mussed fringe and returned the cavalier stare, “Surely that’s not… hic, rrreally necessary, officer?” He rolled his head to one side, favoring the young man with a slow, fond smile.

“I’m afraid it is, sir,” he said, stepping forward to cuff him, “I was called out on complaints of loud vulgarity and nudity. I’m required to put you in stockade until someone can put up your bail.”

As the young officer in the well-fitted uniform walked around him to pull his hands behind his back, Hannibal caught the flash of his name tag: W. Graham. Charming name, went with the rest of his self-assured smile and confidence boosting pants. Really, if Hannibal didn’t know better, he might have mistaken Mr. Graham for a Chippendales’ dancer rather than an actual cop. He would have to look into whoever tailored uniforms for the police force and make a substantial donation to mark his gratitude.

“Wellll,” he drawled through a feigned alcoholic stupor, “I don’t see what’s so indecent about it. The lady should be thanking me for presenting her with a work of art, if you know what I mean. Quite decent, in my opinion.” He grinned wryly, glancing over his shoulder as Officer Graham stiffened slightly, tightening the cuffs.

Officer Graham walked back around with an unimpressed expression, but Hannibal could detect the slight tingle of adrenaline: curiosity. Perfect.

“Into the car, please,” Officer Graham took him by the shoulder and pushed him towards the back seat of his police cruiser. Hannibal made sure to keep his steps heavy and uneven, listing towards his handsome officer with every stride.

“Hold on there,” the young man tightened his grip and pushed him firmly back to his side before reaching the door. Hannibal thrilled at his touch and hoped very much to get more of it before leaving the prison in the morning.

The officer shoved him unceremoniously inside; no longer meeting his eyes, as if aware of the fact Hannibal was continually trying to catch his gaze. Hannibal smirked to himself, pleased with the effect he was having.

Hannibal invited himself into the space behind the driver’s seat, head bent forward against the officer’s headrest with the excuse that he could not sit back comfortably which his hands handcuffed behind him as well as being deliriously drunk. In reality, he hadn’t touched a drop, except to splash some onto his tramp’s clothes. His behavior had superseded a breathalyzer test.

He inhaled deeply after his officer sat down and started off towards the jailhouse. For a moment, he flinched. Despite his perfectly manicured appearance, the man had disastrous taste in cologne, But beneath the hideous bottle scent, there was ravenous curiosity, smoldering self-confidence, and sharp zing of anxiety. He was a cocktail of all Hannibal’s favorite smells and he couldn’t wait to indulge himself eating them up. Figuratively, of course.

He let the officer hear him sniffing and then gave a perverse, loud, long groan of pleasure, nuzzling his head rest, as close to his skin as he could possibly get. He could almost feel the hairs on the back of the officer’s neck stand up, piqued. “You smell good,” he almost growled, getting a little carried away with the persona.

Officer Graham sat up straighter, pushing himself away from the hot, lingering breath behind him, “I imagine I would compared to someone who hasn’t showered in recent memory.”

Hannibal tried not to laugh at the clever comeback and instead leaned back so he could pout pointedly into the mirror. “Have you no pity for your, hic, fellow man?” he sighed dramatically.

The officer cracked a smile, though he tried to hide it, looking away quickly. Hannibal noticed it was getting harder and harder not to smile back and completely give the game away.

“Not many would assume police officers are even capable of pity,” Officer Graham returned, glancing back at him, “we are in Louisiana after all.”

Hannibal cocked his head, “Perhaps none of us should judge on appearances then…” Esoteric, risky, maybe he shouldn’t have…

The officer tapped his thumbs against the wheel, considering, “Then, I suppose, I ought not to assume you’re a homeless drunk just because you smell and act like it?”

It suddenly occurred to Hannibal that he was not the only one acting. His heart rate slowed as he considered the very cute, but dangerously clever officer and the fastest way he might dispatch him. But the officer looked at him through the mirror and his shining blue eyes were laughing.

Hannibal’s lips slowly curved and he laughed out loud. Perhaps the risk was worth it after all. “Well, if I wasn’t a homeless drunk,” he chuckled, looking out the window and spreading his legs suggestively, “I would have better things to do than get caught urinating in public,” he smirked at his officer.

The officer snorted softly, pulling into the station, “We can only hope.” He glanced to the backseat once before stepping out of the car; Hannibal was pleased to see his eyes couldn’t help but trace over his well-displayed crotch.

Officer Graham came to his door and escorted him out with another firm hand on his shoulder, but this time wrapped around his back instead of just hanging onto his side. Hannibal smirked privately and made sure their hips brushed as frequently as possible. He still stumbled over his steps, keeping up the pretense. Even if Mr. Graham had rumbled him, he was quite sure no one else in the station could tell without Mr. Graham tipping them off.

“Drunk and disorderly from midtown,” his officer checked him in, letting him stand in the lobby as he walked around behind the desk to fill out his paperwork.

“This way, Mr. Smith,” Hannibal glanced up to see his officer gesturing for him. Now he walked slightly behind the officer and could fully admire the way the uniform broadened his shoulders, tight and straight, before sloping down his back to a firm, pert bottom, begging to be squeezed and pushed and…

“In here, please,” the officer turned abruptly, leaving Hannibal’s eyes staring at his crotch. To be honest, he was completely unperturbed by the change of view and slowly rolled his eyes back up to his face with a drawling leer spreading his lips.

“Thank you, Officer Graham,” Hannibal murmured, before turning to the stockade and reluctantly stepping inside. There were about a half dozen other people there, most of whom were sleeping or otherwise ignoring the entrance of another disreputable ne’er-do-well. Hannibal plotted quickly on how he could get the delicious morsel Officer Graham alone as said morsel pulled at his wrists to unlock his handcuffs.

“If you become distressed,” Officer Graham spoke, loud enough for the room to hear, “just call for me and I’ll get you transferred to a single cell.”

Hannibal’s expression didn’t change, but he inwardly purred for joy. He hadn’t expected his seduction to go quite so easily, but apparently what he smelled on Officer Graham wasn’t an exaggeration. He was reckless, entirely too self-righteous, and was enjoying their little pretense far too much. Oh, what a delicious boy he’d found. It was worth it dressing up as a tramp and visiting this sour-smelling, beauty-less room for that.

He ran a finger over his officer’s thumb once before they both had to move away, Officer Graham moving to his desk, Hannibal stumbling, eyes lidded, to the nearest bench. He was looking forward to calling for a rescue, oh, very much indeed.

 


	15. Spacedogs, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12/18/15
> 
> Prompt by me, inspired by aglassroseneverfades and his A/B/O-verse for Spacedogs. Now I NEVER EVER do A/B/O because I can't stand it, but he did this SO WELL I had to make an exception. Not only that, I wrote a tiny bit for the verse myself (and may do more). So, even if you hate A/B/O like me, give this a chance, this is not your average, biological determinist A/B/O.
> 
> For context, this is his fic http://itsybitsylemonsqueezy.tumblr.com/post/135403497328/i-have-a-nigeladam-fanfic-promo-its-from-starry Read it, it's beautiful
> 
> Spacedogs-verse (+ A/B/O)  
> Pairing: Adam/Nigel  
> Rated: G for heartwarming

“Nigel!”

Nigel couldn’t help smiling as Adam answered the door, “I was in the neighborhood, wanted to stop by.” He’d been gone for less than 24 hours. This was pathetic, even by normal Omega standards. But Adam’s smiling face at the door was everything he knew it would be and he couldn’t have made his feet turn away from the walk to the apartment if he tried.

“Please, come in,” Adam stepped back, gesturing inside.

Nigel stepped in and inhaled deeply, getting the scent of Adam’s home back. Honestly, he hadn’t forgotten what it smelled like at all. But around lunch time, he’d happened to pick up his jacket and sniffed it and realized Adam’s scent had gone faint on it and would soon wear away. The thought was accompanied by an acute pang in his chest that he tried to ignore. He was not the type to fucking imprint.

But the thought bothered him all day, the fact that in time the scent would wear away, Adam would wear away without a proper bond to hold them together. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted that, he’d never considered bonding before; it seemed like a losing deal for any Omega. But the smell grew fainter and fainter all day and the feeling in his chest grew worse until he couldn’t resist walking back to Adam’s flat after dark and pathetically standing there at his door like a fucking puppy with their first crush.

But Adam couldn’t be more delighted to see him, all bright eyes and smiles. And Adam didn’t like surprises, not one bit. But here he was relaxed, pleased, speech easy and unhurried. Nigel’s heart throbbed with joy, looking at the young Alpha closing the door behind him.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Adam was saying, walking over to him.

Nigel raised his eyebrows, “Oh?”

“Mmm,” Adam hesitated, chewing his lip. He looked down at the floor before continuing, “I’ve grown… used to having you around. It was getting hard to remember what my routine was before you were here. I was just getting ready for dinner and I realized I didn’t have to make two portions and that’s fine, it’s less work, but I remembered making dinner for you every night and I didn’t want to not make dinner for you but you were gone and so I couldn’t make dinner for you so I wasn’t going to but-”

Nigel patiently listened to him ramble, lips quirking fondly. “You can make dinner for me after all,” he interrupted gently.

Adam stopped immediately and looked up at him again. “Would you like some dinner?” he asked.

Nigel nodded, grinning, “Very much, I’m fucking starving.”

Adam relaxed and smiled to himself, walking into the kitchen, “I said no swearing at the table, you know that.”

Nigel rolled his eyes, following him, “I’m not at the fucking table, I’m in the kitchen, watching you cook.” He beamed as Adam turned to scowl at him.

“What’re we having tonight? Ahhh… microwave macaroni and cheese with broccoli, my favorite,” he snorted, “I have to take you grocery shopping, cook you a decent meal.”

Adam’s eyebrows rose as he ripped the boxes of macaroni and cheese open, “You would take me grocery shopping?”

Nigel blinked, surprised at himself, not realizing he’d said it. “Call it returning the favor, for taking care of me,” he tried to shrug it off.

“I told you, you don’t have to pay me back,” Adam reminded him, putting the dishes of mac and cheese into the microwave before turning to him.

“What if I want to?” Nigel cocked his head, upset that the way Adam’s clear blue eyes looked up at him did things to his heart. It was leaping and jumping like it was on a livewire. It made Nigel feel like he wasn’t in control of himself; he didn’t know what to do with his hands, his face, his anything. All Adam had to do was stand there and he was completely fucking undone.

Adam thought for a minute, then shook his head, “I won’t accept it.”

Nigel frowned, “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want your gratitude,” Adam replied, turning back to the beeping microwave.

Nigel pouted. Adam was leaving him in a very difficult position, unable to fob off his growing feelings with trinkets and presents and unable to take Adam in his arms and kiss him until the sky turned as blue as his eyes. Why’d he have to go and fucking fall in love in the first place?

Nigel swallowed and searched for a new tactic, “What do you want then?”

Adam paused as he stirred the macaroni. He continued as if he hadn’t heard and put the trays back in to finish cooking. He put his stirring fork in the sink and rinsed it off without turning to Nigel. Nigel waited uneasily, but didn’t want to rush Adam. When he was quiet it was because he needed quiet.

Adam slowly turned around, but couldn’t quite face him, “I know you hated staying here,” his voice was so soft Nigel could barely distinguish it over the hum of the microwave, “I know you hated being dependent on me while you were convalescing. So I don’t want you to feel beholden to me in any way.”

Nigel frowned slowly, a sense of guilt emerging inside him. It was true he hadn’t exactly been hospitable to Adam when he’d come to his aid in that alleyway. Neither had he been particularly grateful or accepting of help for the first few days of laying up in Adam’s bed, mainly snarling at him and complaining about the pain. But he had softened a great deal over the time they spent together and he’d even grown to…

Nigel bit his lip. Adam needed things to be concrete. And in his own stupid insecurity, he’d forgotten that. And now sweet Adam was stumbling over feelings he could only guess at because Nigel had been a fucking wanker. Brilliant, Nigel, fucking great, you’ve hurt him and you didn’t even mean to.

“But I liked living with you,” Adam said, completely unaware of Nigel’s emotional revelation, “And I missed you a lot today. And I’d like to keep living with you, if that were an option.”

“It is an option,” Nigel answered quietly.

Adam lifted his head, “You want to come live with me?”

Nigel took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and nodded firmly, “Yes. I do.”

A smile started to spread across Adam’s face, “Not… not because you’re in my debt, right? Because I told you, there is no debt.”

Nigel rewarded him with a small smile and shook his head, “No, I want to come live with you because I want to fucking live with you, Adam.”

A small giggle escaped Adam’s mouth, happiness bubbling out of him. “Can… Can I hug you?”

Nigel nodded eagerly, arms and lips spreading as Adam rushed for him, fitting neatly inside his arms, pressed up against him, head tucked against his shoulder. Nigel wheezed, grinning from ear to ear, feeling like he was about to explode into tiny glowing pieces of happiness.

Adam clung to him, fingers wrapped into his jacket, pressing against him as close as he could get. He sighed and Nigel could feel his breath against his collarbone, forcing him to shut his eyes against the sheer delight of it. He ran a large, warm hand up and down Adam’s back, feeling the bumps of his spine through his thin t-shirt. He squeezed him tight and actually picked Adam off the floor, dangling his toes over the linoleum.

Adam squeaked, giggling, as the microwave timer went off. “Put me down! I have to get the mac and cheese.”

“Leave it, it won’t fucking burn,” Nigel growled in his ear, holding him tight, unapologetically his hostage, swinging in the air.

“Nigel!”

Nigel beamed and buried his face in the crook of Adam’s neck. He never should have left.


	16. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 01/11/16 *Happy New Year!*
> 
> Prompt by kristsune  
> "Ok, you said I could ask anything for my birthday... How about Hannibal & Will at a museum? (Your choice for what kind of museum: art, modern art, science etc) bonus points if they run into someone rude & get murder-y"
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rated: G for Giggling

“The… museum of modern art?” Will raised an eyebrow looking at the name on the side of the building before turning to Hannibal, “Modern art. You and modern art.”

Hannibal rolled his eyes at Will’s distasteful disbelief and tsked, “I have a deep appreciation for all art forms, Will, there’s no need to patronize me.”

Hannibal drew away from the curb and pulled into the closest parking space, “Though the Renaissance may always be where my heart truly lies, I thought you’d appreciate the change. I can be… flexible, as needs arise.” Hannibal smirked darkly at Will before exiting the car, “Besides I have an especial reason to bring you here for our first date.”

Will flushed, stepping out of the car, “First _official_ date, technically you’ve been dating me without my consent for quite some time,” Will muttered under his breath, falling in step with Hannibal as they approached the building.

“Have I?” Hannibal arched an eyebrow at him, “You’ll have to remind me, I don’t seem to recall romantically propositioning you at any time before this.”

Will’s eyes widened in indignation, turning to give Hannibal an earful about his behavior during their ‘therapy,’ before seeing Hannibal’s expectant expression.

“You-!” Will snarled brusquely, keeping his voice down as they walked inside together, “I hate you.”

“Then this date is going very poorly, I must remedy that,” Hannibal’s hand gently connected with Will’s elbow as he skillfully navigated through the bustling crowd at the entrance lobby.

Will gulped slightly, surprised by the touch, “Glad you know where you’re going, where to first?”

Hannibal smiled at the question, keeping a reassuring, if possessive, touch on Will’s arm, “I thought we’d tour modernism chronologically, but we’ll only have time to touch the highlights. I want to save time for the exhibit we came for at the end.”

Will glanced up at him curiously, but didn’t ask. “Well, not that it needs saying, but I’m entirely in your hands here,” Will said it anyway just to see the delighted smile spread across Hannibal’s face, “lead on.”

They began in the west of the building and worked their way around clockwise along the first floor. First there were the Impressionists, Gaugin, Cezanne, and the rest. Beautiful French names that dripped like pearls from Hannibal’s lips as he named each and every piece in the room. Will didn’t remind Hannibal that he spoke French himself, it was too intoxicating hearing the soft rumble in his ear instead. Besides which, Will wanted to save that card for a time when it would really stun him. It was always good to have a leg up on Hannibal. Er… not that Will was thinking about putting his legs on Hannibal’s… whatever.

Next there were the Post-Impressionists, a few early Picassos even. Will looked with interest at the beginning of his metamorphosis, the deliberately broken lines, the skewed perspectives. Will recognized this madness, seeing all the angles but being unable to distinguish point of view within them. Hannibal was looking at him intently, Will knew. Hannibal saw what he saw. Will glanced up, 

“Pity I wasn’t an artist, I suppose you would have made me paint while I had encephalitis.”

Hannibal grinned widely, all teeth, but no bite this time, “And I would have treasured them.”

Will rolled his eyes. That really shouldn’t sound romantic, and yet…

In the third room, the saturation of color, which had lain low or in the realm of natural lighting until now, was turned up 200%. The imagery of the Futurists was dazzling, indecipherable, kitschy, but dazzling. Will blinked and rubbed his eyes, getting used to the neons as much as the toucan heads on fish bodies and trees growing genitals.

“I suppose there’s some connection here with socioeconomic trends, the invention of dayglow perhaps?”

Hannibal snorted, but elegantly covered it with a hand, “I confess, this is not my area, but you can’t fault them for imagination. Good taste, on the other hand…”

They quickly left, giggling to each other like school children, before the other patrons could file complaints.

They took a detour from their clock face to enter a less vibrant room, spoiling Hannibal’s sense of chronology, but so be it. This room was canvased in realism. Not Romantic, not quite, not enough religious symbolism and not enough people, but still it was so beautiful that Hannibal had to pause and inhale to take it all in.

Will walked toward the nearest painting, an impressive landscape covering half the width of the wall. He squinted at the name, “Albert Bierstadt… you know him?”

Hannibal sighed thoughtfully, “A very early modern painter, you can see the lingering influences of Romanticism and Realism. In this context, he is presented more to serve as a counter-point to the rest of the art here. He both inspired and angered the Modernists, they wanted to reach beyond what they saw as narrow, rigid rules and escape into a world entirely of their own making. A fantastical idea, but few of them were successful. And the works of Bierstadt still stand today and will always stand for art.”

Will frowned, “I can’t tell if you hate the Impressionists or admire them.”

Hannibal cocked his head, “Must I choose one?”

Will smirked and shook his head, “Don’t know why I bother asking.”

The paintings _were_ beautiful though, epic in proportion, exact in detail. Even standing in a well-lit, air-conditioned room, they made you feel small. They made you aware of just how negligible human influence was on the natural world. Will stood closer to Hannibal, almost brushing against him, “I think I see a stag.”

“You undoubtedly do,” Hannibal responded softly.

They both hid a smile. Of all the paintings they’d seen so far, this one, strangely, made Will feel the closest to Hannibal. No judgments, no morality, just nature. There was something about that that reminded Will so much of Hannibal.

Hannibal checked his watch as they left the room, “Will, if you feel you’ve had a thorough sampling of Modernism, would you care to see that special exhibit now and complete our tour?” There was a mischievous lilt in Hannibal’s offer.  
Will pursed his lips, preparing himself, but took the offer whole-heartedly, nodding. Hannibal beamed and lead Will to the untouched upstairs.

The upper floor featured, strictly speaking, contemporary art, which should not be confused with Modern art. Nonetheless… the museum had to make money and it was easier to buy art from artists currently producing than to hunt down the finite works of the dead.

Will frowned curiously, wondering what could be up here that had Hannibal so excited. Then he saw it. It was hard to miss really, a huge centerpiece in the middle of the wing: Will’s Saber-Tooth Randall.

Will’s eyes-dilated, shocked and thrilled at seeing his own work on display.

“It’s a cast only,” Hannibal murmured, drawing Will close against him, pulling him into the room to get a better look at his own beautiful design, “Jack has your original in the vaults of the FBI. But, the artistic community has finally acknowledged our work for what it is.”

Will blinked, drawing his eyes for the first time from his own creation. Around the room were beautiful photographs of the works he and Hannibal, separate and together, had created over the years. 

Will felt himself trembling, “…oh.”

Hannibal pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around Will’s waist and hugging him from behind. Will pressed back against Hannibal’s warm chest, swallowing, overcome by the fountain of feelings inside him.

“I wanted you to see it,” Hannibal whispered into his hair, “I wanted you to be admired the way I admire you. You are… so very beautiful, Will.”

Will swallowed hard, his eyes feeling wet, “Hannibal-”

Hannibal pressed a kiss against his temple as Will turned towards him, not knowing what to say.

“Shh… and before you ask, I merely took advantage of circumstances that suited me, I did not arrange this.” He winked and Will barked a laugh.

“It… did occur to me that you might have,” Will grinned, still sniffing and wiping his eyes, “Hannibal, I… I don’t know how to thank you.”

Hannibal considered him for a moment, “Would… a second date be out of the question?”

Will tried not to laugh and summon up a witty response, but was interrupted by the loud criticism of another gallery patron, “Horrible!”

Will’s head snapped up, glaring in the direction of the offending speaker, “What?” It flew out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying.

“This horrid stuff,” she said, tapping a finger against the glass framed picture of Francis Dolarhyde and his red wings, “It glorifies violence, it shouldn’t be allowed in museums.”

Will’s pride twitched, “There’s a certain amount of violence in all art. You have to destroy in order to create.”

She wheeled at him, eyes bulging, “These are human lives, not sheets of paper.”

“I didn’t say it was moral, I only said it was art,” Will snapped coldly.

“Well it’s sick, this psychopath worship only dehumanizes the victims.”

“I believe the killers did that long before this museum set up its exhibit,” Hannibal drawled lazily. 

“Disgusting,” she spat, turning her back on the strangely defensive gentlemen. 

She returned to her group, fortunately, leaving the exhibit.

Will’s eyes narrowed darkly. He turned back to Hannibal, close enough his nose almost brushed his shoulder, and muttered, “Want to give them another exhibit?”

Hannibal’s keen gaze was focused pointedly on Will, eyes lidded. Carefully, he lowered his head and, gently pressing a hand suggestively to the small of Will’s back, murmured, “Would it be too early in the date to say I love you?”

Will’s feral grin was, arguably, art itself.


	17. Hannigram, PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 01/16/16
> 
> Prompt by me, I just wanted to write some dumb fluff with UST and angst. Ta-da. Part 1 of 2.
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rated: PG for gratuitous descriptions of blood (in case that's a squick for anybody. What you're doing in this fandom I dont' know, but you are a brave soul for carrying on regardless.)

“ _That_ was asinine,” Will growled, hurtling into the shadows after Hannibal.

“He might have recognized us,” Hannibal panted, clutching his side, “it was more important we get the money.”

“And you used to be a lot better at gambling on _mights_ ,” Will hissed, flabbergasted at Hannibal’s complete vacation from his senses.

Hannibal quietly thought _I used to have a lot less to gamble with_ but kept it to himself as Will continued his heedless chastising, “Instead you grab my gun, shoot him, get into an altercation with the guard-!” Will threw up his hands, asking for supplication or something heavy to hit Hannibal with and stop him from doing anything else impulsive.

Hannibal leaned back against the alley wall a little more heavily than he would have liked, both hands pressing against his side now, “I never kill with a gun; it will look like… an ordinary bank robbery gone bad. But, your criticisms are valid… I will keep them in mind… for the next time,” he panted, sliding a little against the wall.

“I expected better of… you’re bleeding? You’re… damnit, Hannibal,” Will rushed to his side, immediately prizing his hands away to see the worryingly thick gouts of blood spilling from Hannibal’s barely healed bullet wound. Will blanched, visible under the neon streetlight, a yellowish glare highlighting the perfect curve of cheek and jaw and the anguished look in his eye.

Hannibal knew he should be more worried about the blood pooling in the street and the foggy dizziness in his head, but all he could really focus on right now was how close Will was. He liked Will this close, his hands on him, pulling him. It reminded him of that moment before going over the cliff, how his heart thrilled the moment Will touched him, put his hands on him, pulled him close. This reminded him very much of that. He knew he should feel some stray tendril of anger or bitterness or just disappointment for what Will had done too, but he found none. He was just so grateful Will was here, they were together, they were alive.

“…live much longer if we don’t get back to the hotel. Stay awake, c’mon, you’ll have to walk me through redoing your stitches,” Will’s voice floated through the fog of his mind. Hannibal nodded faintly, head lolling against his chest. Will clutched at him, his hand tight on his arm, keeping him balanced like a yoke over his shoulders, his other hand pressed to his wound.

Hannibal could imagine his hands, slick with blood, smelling of iron and trace minerals. Will’s articulate, gentle hands, smeared so thick with blood he could never wipe it away. Will had left bloody handprints all over him that night, not even the sea had washed away the stains. He’d kept the shirt. He didn’t tell Will he had, but he couldn’t bear to destroy it. Whatever happened next, he wanted a token of the night Will had opened up to him, fully, and reached out for him. He wanted to keep it, in case…

“…will have to hold you until we get back to the hotel. Hannibal?” Will’s voice trod across the landscape of his mind once again, the only sure thing in the fog. Hannibal struggled to lift his head but found he could not. Instead he made his eyes open, blurry, as if with tears. He could not make them focus. Why couldn’t he make them focus…?

 _Touch._ Will’s touch on his face, cool fingers pressed against the long hollow of his cheek. Hannibal’s lungs tried to gasp, but it caught, inaudibly, in his throat, too weak to be noticed.

“Hannibal, I need you to keep your hand pressed against your wound, can you do that for me?” Will’s voice was soft and soothing. He tried so hard to make his eyes focus, he wanted to see his face, know what Will looked like right now. Was he concerned? Upset? Angry? Disappointed? Frustrated? Will was capable of such great kindness… was he bestowing a little of that on him?

“Hannibal, answer me, c’mon, stay with me,” Will reminded him, voice a little more short now, the cool touch leaving his cheek.

Hannibal managed a weak nod and pressed his hands firmly against his side, surprised to feel the rough scratch of paper towels. _Well that won’t last long_ , some entirely logical part of his brain that hadn’t shut off yet informed him.

“Thank you, I need both hands to drive the car,” Will took him by the shoulders again and heaved him to his feet, gingerly leading him to the passenger door and seating him inside with as little disturbance as possible. Hannibal heaved a long sigh, eyes almost completely shut and he settled back against the seat cushions. For one aching second, he couldn’t sense Will. There was no touch, no scent, no sound. Distantly Hannibal knew Will was merely walking around to the driver’s side to get in, but to his blood-scarce brain, panic took over almost instantly. The vacuum of Will, while in reality less than 2 seconds, was unbearably long to him. His heart, intent on killing himself faster if Will wasn’t there, only calmed when the latch on the other side opened and a fresh breath of Will flooded the car.

There was a muffled thump of something hitting the ground before Will got inside and started the engine. “Okay, we’ll be back at the hotel soon just… don’t bleed out. Keep talking to me, stay awake, don’t go to sleep Hannibal, don’t you dare go to sleep on me,” Hannibal thought he could hear Will’s hands tighten on the leather steering wheel as he said it, but that might have just been the squeezing of his own blood vessels. It was difficult to tell what anything was right now.

Will sounded stressed, almost pained. Pain made Will’s voice harsh and quick, Hannibal knew that well. He was beginning to talk like that now. Hannibal grunted softly, trying to form his lips into words and do as he asked.

“Y-You… pain…” Hannibal mumbled weakly, unaware of his own incoherence.

“I’ll get you something for the pain as soon as you’re stitched up again, I promise,” Will sounded less strained now, a sigh of relief in his tone. Hannibal paused, his mind slowly tumbling it over, trying to decipher.

The car stopped long before he figured it out. He seemed to frown, upset that he didn’t even have the energy to understand why Will was so on edge.

“Here we go, we’re here, Hannibal, don’t move, I’ll get you out,” Hannibal could hear the click and whirr of the seatbelt being unbuckled and wanted to protest, to say anything to make Will stay. It was so upsetting being apart from Will.

This time though the absence felt shorter. Will seemed to be back by his side instantly, pulling him out of the car with great care, begging him to stay awake, “Just a little longer, that’s it… just stay with me until we get inside. Then you have to deal with me fumbling around with your insides, won’t that be fun?” Will kept a running commentary going as he unlocked the door and nudged Hannibal inside, depositing him on the bed closest to the bathroom.

Will tried to get him to sit upright but Hannibal didn’t manage a hunched over slouch for more than a few seconds before falling straight back onto the bed, thud. Distantly he could hear frantic commotion, zippers, things in plastic cases rattling, water running. Not even Will’s tight, shrill voice cut through his fog now though. He was only aware his eyes were open by the glare of light all around him, but he could make out nothing else.

 _White hot pain._ “Ouch!” the sharpness of the pain abruptly brought Hannibal back into the present, jerking upward.

“Lay down,” Will gritted out, pressing on his bare stomach with one hand, “I’m sorry it hurts, I sterilized the needle in boiling water. …glad you’re awake,” he muttered breathlessly, eyes trained on the needle he was still pulling through Hannibal’s skin, praying he wasn’t doing any more damage.

Hannibal panted, eyes flicking first from Will’s concentrated face then to his steady, soft hands sewing him up. Eventually he let his muscles relax back down against the bed. He gulped, trying to be of use in his scant moments of consciousness, “Will.”

There was a sharp intake of breath and Hannibal couldn’t honestly say where it originated.

“You’re doing fine,” Hannibal mumbled; his voice was thick, nigh indecipherable from dehydration.

The whole room went still. Will looked up, blinking slowly.

Hannibal tried to nod, “You’ve done well, got me here before I could lose too much. I won’t need a transfusion,” he grinned faintly, vision going a little murky again, “I have survived worse.”

Will finally looked back down at his needle, “Before you call this lucky, remember this is all your fault in the first place,” he muttered.

Hannibal tried to laugh, but it choked him, “I look forward… to your reprimands,” he murmured before passing out again.


	18. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 01/17/16
> 
> Prompt by me, I just wanted to write some dumb fluff with UST and angst. Ta-da. Part 2 of 2.
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rated: G for canoodling

Light was the only thing waking him when Hannibal next resurfaced. No pain, no touch, just honest sleep and the light over his eyelids calling him to consciousness. Hannibal stared up at the mottled ceiling of the hotel room, head clear, eyes focused. He tried to sit up and felt the familiar tug of a needle in his hand. He was surprised to find an IV drip taped up to the wall, half-empty. A glance over to the other side of his bed and he met Will’s open eyes.

“You’re awake,” Will announced, stiffly unfolding himself from his chair next to Hannibal’s bedside and walking unevenly to the coffee machine. He had terrible, dark bags under his eyes he’d been up the whole night, watching him. Hannibal’s lips drew down, seeing the sleep-deprived stress in his muscles as Will tried to move and function normally. 

“Did you sleep well?” Will cleared his throat; his voice retained the gruffness of a night’s sleep anyway.

“Where did you get the IV?” Hannibal murmured by way of response, cocking his head.

Will turned to him, eyebrow raised, “A helpful salesman came by the door and offered me the last of his stock. It was a very kind gesture, but I insisted on paying him fairly.” Will turned back to the coffee maker, finding it better company at the moment.

Hannibal’s lips quirked, pleased Will was feeling well enough to be making rude comments. If he had to guess, though, Will had stayed by his side all night, except for his trip to the closest hospital to steal him an IV, and even then, Will must have been extremely anxious the whole time, afraid that if there were complications, he wouldn’t be there to take care of it.

Speaking of which, Hannibal looked down and surveyed Will’s emergency stitching. Or he tried to, but Will had cleverly hidden it behind very thick, very tight bandages. He wanted to be sure Hannibal would not burst his stitches like this again. Hannibal smiled slowly, warmth burning up in his chest. He slid a hand over the large white square covering his injury, he could just feel the bumps of Will’s stitches, tight and even. Will had worked hard to sew him up so well he wouldn’t need to fix it. Hannibal exhaled deeply, thinking of Will’s hands on him, carefully putting him back together, painstakingly touching him as gently as possible.

“That wasn’t worth it,” Will said quietly, abruptly intruding on Hannibal’s daydream. Hannibal looked up, greeted only by the back of Will’s head and a tight set in his shoulders.

“The money, it wasn’t worth it,” Will clarified.

Hannibal cocked his head, silently pressing himself more upright against the bed, intending to look as alert as he felt.

“You got yourself hurt. That’s inexcusable, Hannibal, that’s sloppy. You can’t jeopardize yourself like that, it’s unconscionable,” Will’s voice was hard, snapping between the bubbles of the boiling water in the coffee maker.

Hannibal looked down at Will’s hands, clenched tight. Will was holding himself back. Will cared that much. Will had been concerned about Hannibal, he’d been worried that Hannibal might… leave him. One way or another.

Hannibal’s lips parted faintly, looking between the back of Will’s head, still steadfastly gazing straight ahead, and the terrible strain of his gentle fingers, worn white with worry and frustration.

“I’m sorry, Will,” Hannibal murmured.

The coffee began to brew, pouring into the pot in a quiet, but deliberate, trickle.

Will deflated, leaning heavily against the coffee table, “You can’t just be sorry. Promise me you won’t do something so stupid again.”

“ _Will_ ,” Hannibal begged, pained. He tried to stretch forward, his left hand inching across the bed towards him automatically.

Will reluctantly turned his head and looked back at Hannibal, frowning, but anger quickly dissipating into weary bitterness.

Hannibal felt his heart squeeze meeting Will’s eyes, “I’m sorry to have made you worry. I was… reckless at the bank. Foolish. I did jeopardize myself… and you,” his body arched even more towards Will, cleaving to him.

Will turned to him fully and swallowed, “You didn’t… jeopardize me.”

“I did,” Hannibal corrected him, nodding, “in risking myself, I might have left you alone.” His eyes filled with regret, hoping Will would know how he’d never wanted that. It pained him to consider that eventuality, Will alone again in this cruel world. He could not allow that to happen and not when it had so foolishly been his own fault.

Will inhaled sharply, shifting against the table behind him. “You weren’t going to die,” Will muttered down to the floor.

Hannibal swallowed, softly wetting his lips, “We cannot help fearing the worst when faced with unknown consequences. And fear is rarely a rational being. You looked at me, wounded, looked at the blood I was losing, and you surmised the worst possible conclusion. I would have been just as afraid looking at you.”

Will stilled and looked up slowly. Hannibal withdrew the IV needle from his hand and sat up fully, groaning as the movement strained his injury. He swung his legs over the side of the bed to get up before Will could stop him.

“Don’t- Stop, you need to stay in bed,” Will rushed to him, grabbing a hip, a shoulder, intent on pressing him back into the bed and forcing him to stay there. Hannibal’s eyes half-closed, smirking, before taking perfect advantage of this position and bringing his arms around Will’s neck and kissing his tender lips.

Will froze, shocked. Hannibal knew it would come as some surprise, but he didn’t intend to stop and let Will reject this when they both needed it. He kissed and teased Will’s lips with his own, drawing his teeth gently across his lower lip, tugging it between his and sucking. His arms stayed warm and solid around Will’s neck, not too tight or too possessive, but insistent, persuasive.

The kiss kept going, steady and reassuring. Will didn’t have the heart to resist, his mind too weary, his body too eager to enjoy this. Hannibal kept sucking at his lips and Will’s eyelids fell slowly, “…oh,” barely audible between their mouths. This time when he pushed on Hannibal his touch was gentle and Hannibal gave willingly, falling back against the bed and pulling Will with him.

Hannibal wanted to continue as they were, but Will leaned back, insisting on parting briefly. Hannibal’s arms slid reluctantly from his neck as Will drew away, making sure Hannibal was settled and his bandage secure before gingerly climbing into bed next to him. Hannibal hungrily leaned over, pulling Will against his chest, brooking absolutely no hesitation.

“You can’t… you promised you wouldn’t be so reckless,” Will quietly reminded him, relocating his hand to the hip under his injury, stubbornly preventing him from moving more than he should. Hannibal tingled all over, Will’s touch radiating in electric sparks all the way out from his fingertips to the extremities of his body.

“So I did,” Hannibal sighed, eyes fixed longingly on Will’s soft features, his low-lidded blue eyes and matted curls, “But we should stay together now… shouldn’t we? As close as we can bear.” Hannibal swallowed, tucking Will firmly in his arms. Will gave into him beautifully, happily conforming into his chest, nestling with a soft sigh. Hannibal’s heart sang, striking every chord in its repertoire.

Will’s breath ruffled over his chest hair and Will seemed to consider that for a moment. Hesitantly he brought up his free hand and touched it, just with a finger, surprised he could.

“I can bear it,” Will whispered. His eyes finally closed and his head fell softly against his warm, strong chest, “I’m so tired… do you mind if I…?”

Hannibal didn’t answer, just tucked his head under his chin and let Will fall asleep against his chest. Will was asleep in a few seconds, his soft, steady breaths filling the room. He was so close now, so close. And he could always be this close. He’d never part from Will’s touch again. Maybe he wouldn’t need that bloody shirt after all.


	19. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 01/19/16
> 
> Prompt by weconqueratdawn
> 
> "there's a lot of angst on my dash and I'd like to read about Will being happy for once. Could just be for a fleeting few moments. Will, comfortable, relaxed with himself, no worries... (Hannibal would die - such beauty)"
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rated: G for First Kisses
> 
> P.S. Something new in the works, stay tuned!

For Will, nothing in life was ever easy. From day one it had all been an uphill battle of meeting expectations, managing his feelings, and drawing as little attention to himself as possible. Which was not as effortless as he’d like it to be. But running away with Hannibal might have been the easiest thing he’d ever done. It still surprised him how relaxed he felt with the man. Even after everything Hannibal had done to him, after all they’d done to each other, even now… especially now, maybe, as there were no more lies left.

‘On the run with the most notorious serial killer of modern times’ was not a turn Will had ever expected his life to take. But, he conceded, very few people could expect Hannibal. He wasn’t something likely to happen, but… here he was, changing everything in his wake. Including Will himself.

Will leaned back from the balcony, inhaling deeply. They were in Buenos Aires currently and Will was grateful to be in the Southern Hemisphere where January was borderline sweltering instead of Jack Frost’s sledgehammer. The sunbeams dancing across his skin took no notice of his scars, his shadows, the permanent wary twitch in his stare. The warmth of the sun crawled under his thin shirt, leaking under the fabric and staining him gold. Will couldn’t think of a better place for recovery. 

He closed his eyes, hoping his mind could absorb the same calm, easy peace of the sunlight.

“Instead of playing games with yourself in the dark of the moon, I find you in soliloquy with the sun,” his constant companion murmured behind him.

Will didn’t start, not surprised to hear Hannibal’s low rumble, almost always at his ear these days, but he opened his eyes immediately, straightening and turning towards him, “I wasn’t soliloquizing,” Will defended.

Hannibal angled his head, “You were in your mind.”

Will smiled wryly, “Then I’m always soliloquizing,” he sighed, turning back to the view.

“Yes, you are,” Hannibal agreed, walking up to stand next to him. They both grinned at each other.

Hannibal handed him a cocktail he’d just made, something thick and sweet with an incredibly intricate garnish. Will sipped at it through the large straw Hannibal provided him with, “That’s delicious, thank you.”

Hannibal grinned widely, “Mixed drinks are not usually my preferred form of experimentation, but it seemed fitting with the surroundings. I’m glad you enjoy it.”

Will’s lips quirked fondly. He stirred it languidly, half convinced Hannibal had somehow managed to layer whipped cream into it. “It’s beautiful here,” he commented, “Though I doubt you would have agreed to hide anywhere that wasn’t beautiful.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow, “I lived without beauty for many years. That gives me an appreciation of it more than most.”

“In all its many and terrible forms,” Will smirked.

Hannibal grinned, eyes sparkling, then suddenly stopped, hesitating, “…you called it beautiful.”

“I did,” Will agreed, taking another long sip through the straw, “It was. It is.” He looked up at Hannibal cautiously.

Hannibal’s eyes changed rapidly, filling and emptying of feelings faster than Will could keep up with them. He looked down over the edge, towards the city, “Even now?” 

Will could almost hear him swallow. Will stepped closer, almost touching Hannibal, leaning over the banister with him, “This city is beautiful. Killing Dolarhyde was beautiful, too. You are beautiful.”

Hannibal jerked so hard he almost dropped his own cocktail. “Will, I-”

“You are,” Will interjected, setting his drink down, “You know you are… you’re just scared I don’t see that. I’m here to tell you… that I do.”

Hannibal continued to face the street below, though Will knew he was acutely aware of Will’s eyes on him. Hannibal wasn’t even trying to appear calm, he was in defense mode, shielding as much of himself as possible without outright lying.

Will admired the tense line of Hannibal’s body, a coiled spring even more than usual, the rigid lines of his back, up to the smooth granite of his face. Will smiled faintly; Hannibal was uncommonly soft and giving for granite.

Will leaned closer until their elbows bumped, appearing not to have moved at all, that the touch was merely the result of their inexorable pull on each other. Hannibal would not reveal the slightest reaction, and yet, Will could feel his tremor as strongly as though he were shaking like a leaf.

Studying his face, it clicked in Will’s mind why Hannibal drew so much. If he had the power to portray it, Will would have loved to sketch the exact bow of Hannibal’s lips at this moment, the painfully exact focus of his eyes, the sunlight beaming down on him, a radiant shower from heaven catching all the light and darkness in his face.

Will gasped, surprised to find his lips were already parted from staring at him. He didn’t speak, he just reached one hand for the far side of Hannibal’s face. Hannibal saw the movement and turned toward him before he could touch.

If it was possible for Hannibal Lecter to look afraid, Will would have said the split second before he kissed him was the closest Hannibal got, eyes wide and wet, lips trembling. The helpless look, half-remembered between their lips, made Will clutch at him harder, pull him closer, kiss him deeper. He slid his fingers back into Hannibal’s still too-short hair, sliding his other hand over his shoulder up his neck to his face. His thumb found that gorgeous, rounded apple of his cheek as the heel of his palm fit easily under it. Will pulled him down to his level, eager to find Hannibal willingly, eagerly, bending down to him, following his kisses breathlessly.

Will had no idea how long he stood there, kissing the most notorious serial killer of modern times, but his head was filled with pleasant, intoxicating buzzing before he stopped. It must have been a long time because the first thing he saw after opening his eyes blearily, was Hannibal’s lips swollen, rubbed smooth and almost red with friction. Will gulped, overcome with the desire to lick them until they shone.

“ _Will_ …” Hannibal’s voice growled thick and heavy, yet still somehow light and breathless at the same time. Will took in the rest of his face, Hannibal looked as dazed, dizzy, and delighted as he felt. He grinned widely, pushing himself closer and wrapping his arms around Hannibal’s waist for balance. A soft look came over the doctor’s face, a small noise escaping him before he shifted his focus back to Will, comfortable and pleased with Hannibal’s arms hanging over his shoulders.

Will smiled up at him, unabashedly. He didn’t think he could stop smiling. Hannibal’s eyes widened in disbelief, taking a hand and running his fingers faintly over Will’s spread lips. Will couldn’t resist a small nip and kiss before letting them go.

Hannibal swallowed hard, “I said… this was all I ever wanted for you. Do you-?”

“Yes,” Will wouldn’t let him finish, almost jumping up to kiss him again, pulling his arms around his neck, holding him much the same way he’d done then.

Hannibal decided pushing Will into the bedroom rather than over the balcony was a better reenactment this time around.


	20. Hannigram, R

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 01/25/16
> 
> Prompt by me. "Will and Hannibal having sex with other people on separate occasions at separate times in separate places (basically season 3 is what I’m hinting at here guys) and being COMPLETELY INCAPABLE of not thinking about each other. Like, to the point that they forget who they’re actually with? I mean GENUINELY calling out the other’s name and all of it." ...and then I answered my own prompt.
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rating: R for surrogate sex

It’s been almost 3 years since Will last saw Hannibal. Well, last saw Hannibal in the flesh. In truth, he sees Hannibal everywhere. Not all the time, he’s not a constant apparition, but he’s just… everywhere. Will can’t get him out of his head and the harder he tries to scrub him out, the more determined his manifestations become. It’s absurd to think Hannibal is controlling this, and yet… 

He’s been married to Molly for 2 months, things are going well, quiet, but well. She knows he conceals much, but she never questions him about it. He’s grateful to her for that. He loves her for that. He does not love Hannibal.

His nightmares return. He calls them nightmares, he’s scared to call them dreams. He’s with Hannibal in them. They are running together, fighting together, killing together. The night is hot and dark, the trees look like antlers, stretching high above them, hemming them in from the world. Or shielding the world from them. Their hands are on each other, their mouths are on each other, their bodies… They slide and writhe together like serpents, then crash like waves on stone. Hannibal’s fingers are everywhere, everywhere, slick with something dark, bathing him in darkness, and Will _loves it._ Hannibal’s fingers prize him open like a loving gift and Will can feel his touch on his very beating heart and-

He wakes, sweating, throbbing, recalling every vivid detail. Molly is awake too. He grabs her and devours her mouth like he’s never done before. Like he’s someone else. She doesn’t feel at all like Hannibal but he doesn’t care. He’s so close to coming he can’t stand it anymore. Her lips are thick and juicy, her skin is supple and yields under his touch and it’s good enough. It’s not what he wants, but it’s good enough.

He doesn’t give her a chance to breathe before he’s fucking her, following every throb of his pulse, disconcertingly aware he throbs in time with Hannibal’s touch. Hannibal guides his pace, Hannibal rushes his blood, Hannibal is the breath and shadow he makes love to. His name is on his tongue and it’s terror of being so owned, not respect for his wife, that makes him bite it down until he bleeds. But he doesn’t say Hannibal when he comes. He can’t say it. Not yet.

_\---_

Hannibal enjoys having sex with Bedelia. It’s a brilliant stress relief and distraction, if only for a short time. At first, he ravages her like an animal, filled with thwarted desire and frustration. He loses himself in sensation, mind washed blank and empty. But the pleasure never truly reaches him. He lets in nothing and lets go of nothing. Still, he is briefly mollified and soothed by her willing body. But it can only take away the sting of rejection, it cannot heal it. The pain crawls back under his skin, even as their bodies cool, spooned inside each other, and he feels nothing but apathy and distant aesthetic attraction to her. The longing for Will gnawing and ever-present.

When he slams her hips down on him, he thinks of Will’s hips, more bony, more jagged. When he makes her cry out, he hears Will’s soft whisper of pain. When he holds her face and kisses her until her lips are sore, he remembers Will’s scruff under his hand and the corner of his jaw. He cries with the ache of it. He sobs for want of Will, silent and broken, but sobbing. 

His eyes are open but over time he doesn’t even see her. He sees a space where Will is supposed to be. Fingers twisted into her long blonde hair, breasts heaving against his chest, but eyes wide open and he still just sees Will. He strokes her abdomen and Will shudders where his fingers trace his scar.

She learns that when he touches her, it’s not her he’s reaching for. She is surrogate for his desires and accomplice in his dreams, yet never a part of it. When he calls out Will’s name, tears streaming down his cheeks, holding her and shaking, she is only surprised he restrained himself this long. Sometimes she considers denying him, forcing him to visit his dreams alone, but the aching in his voice as he cries out for his missing piece is only just bearable when she can give him succor for it. 

He is a sucking wound, tearing down every wall and rampart, destroying himself with the wanting. She is sometimes glad that this violent destruction is in the name of another. This kind of love leaves none alive.


	21. Hannigram, R

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 01/31/16
> 
> Prompt by the universe. I saw this http://itsybitsylemonsqueezy.tumblr.com/post/138438848713 and immediately knew what I had to do
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rating: R for bedrooms that demand fucking

Hannibal’s big hand slammed the door closed and, though neither of them thought to lock it, Will was fairly sure a pry-bar could not wedge it open; the posts and lintels themselves too terrified by his might.

He tossed Will onto the bed, diving after him with frenzied hunger, spreading Will’s legs apart, thumb grazing his balls, to rut against him hungrily, both still completely clothed. 

“Hannibal… Hannibal…!” Will gasped, babbling as Hannibal pooled him into his arms, wrapping them securely around his waist and pulling Will’s hips against him with every thrust.

Will breathlessly flailed, dizzy from the throw and intoxicated by the mutual arousal. Eventually he remembered that Hannibal existed as more than thighs and cock and tremendous ass, but chest as well and his hands found his shoulders and scratched down his chest anxiously, “Oh god, Hannibal…”

Hannibal merely grunted, completely focused on the bulge in Will’s trousers, fascinated by the little twitches and throbs he could make out through the taut fabric.

“You’re going to make me come if you keep doing that…” Will gurgled, knees traitorously bending around Hannibal’s back, begging for more as Hannibal kept sliding their trapped erections together. 

“ _Good_ ,” Hannibal growled, eyes black, knuckles white.

Will would have laughed except that’s when Hannibal chose to change his angle, pressing Will hard into the bed and looming over him like a lion over its kill. Will yelped, the angle forcing Hannibal’s erection to grind over his perineum, almost teasing his entrance. 

Will made a grab at Hannibal’s belt and finally brought him up short by tugging painfully up by his waistband, “At least… let me unbuckle us, then you can ravage me to your heart’s delight.”

Hannibal snarled, but there was a smile on his fiendish lips. Will decided they had to go out more often if this was what Hannibal was like showing him off around guests. Will wasted no time in unbuttoning and unzipping Hannibal, pulling him out through his underwear, not bothering to do any more; Hannibal was not in a patient mood.

Will fumbled a little, hands shaking, with his own thick belt. He hadn’t counted on the mansion involving quite so many familiar themes. Or being able to whisper his terrible inferences to Hannibal without anyone noticing. Or these in turn deliciously flustering Hannibal to the point of dragging Will upstairs and flinging him into the closest bedroom.

_“What a lovely antique collection of knives,” he’d said, slipping an inconspicuous hand into Hannibal’s back pocket, “I wonder if they’re still sharp enough.” He whispered meaningfully into Hannibal’s ready ear.  
_

_He waited just long enough for Hannibal’s eyes to dilate before adding, “Maybe we should bid on them… I’d love to watch you use them.”  
_

_And that was all it took._

Will finally managed to undo his belt and shove down his jeans (Hannibal hadn’t approved, he had a feeling Hannibal had changed his opinion). His cock bobbed out of them, thick and heavy. Will hissed against the open air, “Ahhh, fuck,” 

Hannibal surged into the empty space, or tried to, the unhooked, but still worn jeans getting in the way. With a look of disdain few people survived, he threw off Will’s shoes, the jeans to follow with a less than friendly snarl, Hannibal keeping one hand on Will the whole time. 

“There now, pet,” Hannibal whispered, pulling Will up against him eagerly, “you’re all mine.”

Hannibal settled Will onto his lap again, humming as their erections brushed. Will scrabbled at the satin covers behind him, helpless in Hannibal’s possessive grip.

Hannibal started rocking again, gentler, slower now, biting his lip against the slide of their hot flesh together. “Do you know how beautiful you are…?” Hannibal muttered, hoarse, dragging his eyes over Will’s white, stretched body against the black, decadent sheets. 

Will’s eyes closed, a flush coming over him, “I do when you look at me like that.” His breaths short and uneven, trying to keep up with his pounding heart. 

Hannibal suddenly jerked, quickening his pace and crouching over Will once again. His insatiable cock rubbed over and between Will’s balls, stretching the skin. Will openly whined, voice stretched thin and high with want, “Ohhhh fuck Hannibal, _fuck_ , I can’t…” he tried to lower his voice, knowing he had to be loud, but Hannibal didn’t even try to correct him.

Hannibal grabbed his ass, his thighs, pulling him up tight with a low, rumbling growl. Will’s legs obediently folded around him as Hannibal tilted his waist back, rubbing his cock against Will’s entrance and perineum, heavy, enthusiastic strokes. Will panted and opened his eyes to see Hannibal staring into space with a glazed look in his eyes, mouth agape. Will looked down to see the bright red head of his cock sliding forwards and backwards with even, irrepressible rhythm. 

Will threw his head back and moaned. This was terrible, they were going to be discovered, there was no point hiding. Still, worrying about secrecy, there was likely no point now. To be honest, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. He knew he should, he knew he ought to be ashamed at having sex in a stranger’s house in the middle of the day. He knew he ought to be frightened and embarrassed. But in all honesty, he could imagine walking out with Hannibal and seeing his enormous, beaming smile of pride and he could not care fucking less about what anyone else thought.

“Hannibal…” Will muttered and pulled him down by the neck, fingers laced into his hair, kissing him desperately, “I want… I want you… so much…” His breath hitched and his lips bumped against Hannibal’s as he spoke, riding Hannibal’s grinding thrusts with pleasure.

Hannibal’s eyes lidded and focused on him, “Mmmnnn…” he moaned softly. He leaned closer, breath hot and muttered into Will’s ear, “I want to watch you come… I want to see it… taste it… feel it in me as I always feel you. My love. My Will.”

Will gripped at his hair and arched up to him, “I want to… I want you to see it… ugh, fuck,” Will panted, squeezing his thighs around Hannibal for balance and grinding up to him, “Make me come… please…”

Hannibal could never resist a request. He hitched Will’s knees over his shoulders and quickly licked two of his fingers. Will gasped, feeling exposed, his eyes widened, “You can’t be serious… that’ll never work.” 

Hannibal merely cocked his head and continued licking, “You mistake what I have in mind,” he replied, voice rumbling. 

Will raised and eyebrow, but his eyes slammed closed at Hannibal’s wet fingers touched his anus, rubbing and spreading saliva everywhere, “Nnnn… no, I’m fairly sure I know what’s going to happen.”

Hannibal chuckled, low and feral. He pressed a hot kiss to Will’s thigh, “Do you think me so predictable already?” Eyes closed, Hannibal nuzzled and licked and kissed all over his thigh as his fingers continued to rub and press at his entrance, ignoring both their burning erections.

Will began to whimper and pound the mattress with his fist, “Hannibal stop playing with me! Please!”

“You asked me to make you come… you never said how,” Hannibal replied, muffled against his skin. But his fingers finally speared Will open, stretching and teasing. 

Will almost threw himself of the bed, “Oh! _Ohhhh!_ ” 

Hannibal’s fingers continued to slide in and out of him, stretching, toying, spreading. He rubbed against the smooth walls of Will’s interior, watching him squirm. 

“Hann-i-bal…” Will whimpered, broken. His balls felt like steel, tight against his cock, seconds away from explosion.

Hannibal panted greedily, staring at him obsessively. Will squinted one eye open, “Am I… a feast to you…?”

Hannibal whined and his cock twitched, a thin line of clear liquid spurting from the tip, “You… sustain me. You nourish me. You fill me. I devour you, yet you rise. I consume you, yet you live. I never need eat again.”

Reluctantly, he withdrew his fingers, hissing at the sudden cold. “Ahhh…” he settled Will just over the tip of his leaking cock and did not move.

Will was stretched _just_ enough to fit over his head in a comfortable vacuum and no more.  Will tore at the covers and jerked his hips, rubbing himself against Hannibal’s very tight and prominent erection, “Fuck me!” 

Hannibal could only breathe, shivering with restraint as he let Will convulse against him. “No,” he whispered.

Will dug his heels into Hannibal’s back and yelped at the stimulation when Hannibal’s cock slid slick against his furled entrance, hot and red and eager. The noises out of his mouth were an incoherent mess, made of more want than word. Will continued to jerk helplessly, riding against the stimulation Hannibal had given him. 

Hannibal wanted him like this, on edge, given everything he needed to make _himself_ come. For once in his life, Hannibal might not have done what Will asked but what Will didn’t even know he wanted. And Will hated him for being right.

Will gasped, feeling so close, trying to roll his hips over Hannibal’s cock, trying to make him slip further inside where here could properly ride him. Will gasped up at him, wide-eyed, knowing Hannibal was only holding himself off from orgasm through sheer force of will. 

“Grab my hips,” Will panted. 

Hannibal met his eyes, hesitating.

“Grab my fucking hips and let me grind against your cock or so help me Hannibal I will never let you have my ass again,” Will bit out, ferocious. 

Hannibal obeyed, mercilessly, driving his fingers into Will’s flesh as if he were a big cat, driving his claws into him.

His restraint finally cracked, hips snapping forward and ramming against Will’s entrance, but never pushing in, just getting off on the hot, teasing circle of pressure, on Will’s increasing shrieks, on how his cock turned suddenly purple and-

Will sprayed come all over the bed, his chest, everywhere. His cock bounced helplessly, throbbing, squirting as much as possible. Hannibal made a strangled sound, head snapped back and Will felt warm liquid leaking between his cheeks, dripping onto the bed. Hannibal came all over his ass and Will couldn’t stand how much he loved it. 

There was come everywhere, on their clothes, on them, but mainly on the bed. 

Hannibal collapsed against him and Will willingly curled into his arms, clinging to his warmth. “These sheets will be ruined forever,” Will mumbled when he had his breath back.

“These sheets are replaceable, my suit on the other hand…” Hannibal looked mournfully at the come stains all over his pants, “I hope you understand how much I love you.” Will felt like hitting him. He settled for pinching his ass instead. Hannibal seemed not to understand the punishment.


	22. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 02/08/16
> 
> Color Palette Challenge. Prompt by curveofherthroat and halotolerant   
> "Write a Hannigram fic between 100-1500 words with a specific color palette (2-3 colors that go together)"
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rating: G for Gbrunch... okay just brunch. Whatever.

MAUVE - OCHRE - UMBER

“This isn’t real, is it?” Will asked out loud from the table.

Hannibal glanced at him over his shoulder, “What isn’t real, Will? That I”m making you breakfast again? That we consummated our love last night? That we escaped, free and clear?”

“Any of it,” Will sighed, flopping back against his chair and rubbing a weary hand over his face, “That we’re here, together, safe… Also, we didn’t exactly ‘consummate’ anything.”

“The original definition, from the Latin, meant to complete, to finish, to bring together. Our love was consummated as much as it needed to be. You said you love me and I reciprocated.” Hannibal began plating his dish.

Will’s nose wrinkled, “Half-drunk, I started spouting off about how beautiful you are and how much I adore you and would do anything for you and you calmly told me you love me. It wasn’t exactly the romantic climax of the century.”

Hannibal’s head tilted thoughtfully, adding finishing touches to his work, “The deaf man does not complain about the first words he ever hears.”

Will winced, but said nothing.

“And here is breakfast,” Hannibal came sweeping over, soft smile on his lips, “Eggs Benedict over fresh salmon.” He set down two servings, one in front of Will, the other across from him at the handsome mahogany table.

Will ate the dish with his eyes first, admiring the bright coral of the fish, the perfect, creamy whiteness of the egg, poached just long enough, the delicate sprig of fresh dill balanced over the yolk. Hannibal returned with a tureen of Hollandaise and poured a generous amount over both their plates, “Bon appetit, mon amour,” he murmured before sitting down himself.

Will could feel his cheeks heating, but he focused on picking up his fork and delicately spearing his egg. Its golden, unbelievably thick and savory contents spilling out all over the dish, turning everything a sumptuous shade of ochre. Reluctantly, Will lifted his knife too to actually cut into this masterpiece and take a bite.

Will chewed slowly, letting himself enjoy it. “As usual, Hannibal, it’s perfect,” he looked up at the cook.

Hannibal regarded him fondly, one hand rubbing his chin, the other poised with a delicate bite, “I’m glad you like it. I’ll make you breakfast every day from now on.” 

A shiver ran up Will’s spine. His eyes flicked nervously for a moment between the food and Hannibal, before settling somewhere halfway, around Hannibal’s shoulders.

“Did you mean it, what you said earlier? That… a drunken confession is all the consummation you need for us to have a functioning relationship?” Will wet his lips, then chewed them, unable to help the compulsion.

Hannibal paused, fork halfway out of his mouth. He straightened, shrugging elegantly, and continued chewing before answering, “It pleases me to have our relationship continue on those terms, yes.”

Will shook his head, pushing back from the umber-stained table, “That’s just a lot of words saying nothing. Tell me… what you want from our relationship.” His voice suddenly fell to a hush over the last three words.

Hannibal stilled. Will wouldn’t lift his eyes to see, but he could tell Hannibal’s eyes were searching, for a trap or for escape. Slowly, Hannibal turned away, facing toward the large window greeting the morning sun opposite the kitchen. 

Sure Hannibal’s gaze was elsewhere, Will’s eyes flicked coyly up over his face. Will had meant what he’d drunkenly confessed the night before. He did love Hannibal’s dark, unreadable eyes. And he loved Hannibal’s knife-sharp cheekbones with their sloping angles and suddenly rounded edges. And he loved Hannibal’s too full lips, how they perched on his face like an invitation, how they jutted and pouted and longed for a kiss. He especially loved them as they were now, faintly parted, wanton.

Oh, perhaps they weren’t really. But to Will their eroticism was impossible to separate from context. They would always look too full to be real and he would need to kiss them to be sure. Somewhere in a corner room of his mind, he’d spent time carefully transcribing an exact description of Hannibal’s lips, their upturned bow, their refusal to thin even in a smile, their soft, warm mauve color, especially when flushed, darkened with excitement, arousal, pain, grief. He had seen Hannibal’s lips at so many stages, but never kissed…

“ _Will._ ”

Will looked up to see Hannibal’s gaze had found him again, a pained longing etched hopelessly through every molecule of him. Will arched over the table and pressed his lips against Hannibal’s perfect mouth. What he said last night didn’t even begin to cover it.

This kiss approached what he wanted to say much more eloquently.

“Like I said, we haven’t consummated anything…” Will panted, “yet.”


	23. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 02/11/16
> 
> Prompt by rainbowish-unicorn. "14. things you said after you kissed me (because i'm corny as hell and it's sunny outside and i feel like everything will be okay ^^)"
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rating: G for canoodling. Which could be spelled with a g if you squinted a little. With your ears.

_“Brush your teeth.”_

Will could have smacked Hannibal, if he didn’t love him so much. As it was, this didn’t even breach the top 5 Most Offensive Things Hannibal had said after a kiss.

There was “ _Never_ kiss the dogs _before_ me.” and “Did you eat fast food? Before dinner?!” and “I appreciate fresh fish for breakfast, just not on your breath.” And that wasn’t even the best one, “Do you kiss your dogs with that mouth?” which had to be Will’s all-time favorite kissing related insult Hannibal ever bestowed on him.

Of course, he wasn’t like that all the time. Most of the time he was a whimpering, gushing mess that tried to lavish him with praise in several languages at once. From “ _bel éphèbe_ ” to “ _cara mia_ ” to “ _mano meile_ ”, Hannibal couldn’t seem to stop babbling to him.

To be honest, Will found both forms of affection perfectly delightful. It pleased him to be the subject of both Hannibal’s rancor and adoration. Hannibal was, after all, the subject of both for him.

But the first time, the _very_ first time, had been very different. Blood-drenched and shivering on a forlorn beach half a world away, there had been no words at all.


	24. Hannigram, T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 02/11/16
> 
> Prompt by pieofthelord. "Hannigram, things you said when i was crying? *puppy eyes* (also i'm hugging you virtually because your writing is so gooooooood) (thank youuuu)"
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rating: T for terribly violent but not really

Will could count on one hand the number of times he’d cried in public. With an empathy disorder, he’d learned real fast how to hide it. Crying was never something he took lightly.

Not that he was inclined to remember those moments at a time like this. Not while he was frantically, hopelessly searching the streets for an unmarked car and wondering what to do next, where to go. Anxiety was starting to get the better of him, twisting his thinking, writhing in the pit of his stomach, making it impossible to find Hannibal.

They’d been out shopping, a crowded, noisy square, a crowded, noisy market kiosk. They’d been looking at summer squash.

They both realized in the same second something was wrong and they both realized too late as they turned into the circle of well-armed, well-trained men. One of them pulled a black bag over Hannibal’s head. It didn’t make holding onto him any easier, but as no bag fell over Will’s head, the fear suddenly struck him: they were only here for him. Somehow, that made things worse. No, that was definitely worse. 

Will hit the kidneys of every person standing between him and Hannibal, but it made no difference, they’d managed to drag him inside and a padlock, unfortunately, did not have a nervous system he could manipulate. Leaving half a dozen of their assailants crumpled on the street, Will ran after the black van, mentally ticking off who could have done this. The FBI would want them both. So would Interpol and the CIA. Alana might only want Hannibal or she might be shrewd enough to separate them. 

These were secondary concerns though; knowing whoever took Hannibal was only useful if it lead to finding him. The van sped away down the cobbled streets, through a blind alley, and was gone. 

Will stopped running, having forgotten his legs still futilely believed they could catch up. He panted and leaned against the nearest building, going to his stream.

Hannibal was not defenseless. If they were going to kill him they would have done it already. That gave Hannibal the advantage, they’d made the very stupid mistake of giving him time to think. Unless they knocked him out. No, even if they did, Hannibal was quick on his feet. He wouldn’t stay caught long, not against his will. 

The stream soothed him, helping him think clearly again, but the anxiety did not entirely abate. Knowing Hannibal would be fine was not the same as _seeing_ that he was fine.

Will rolled over onto his back. He cursed his reflexes. He’d been too slow, too relaxed. They could never relax, not ever. Stupidity and arrogance had done this…

“Will!”

His heart was in his throat before he even registered where Hannibal was. Less than a block away, upright, blood glistening down his arms. His feet picked up with his heart rate and ran for him.

“ _Hann-, Hann-,_ ” half-sob, half-pant and he still couldn’t get the word out.

Hannibal hugged him tight, “Don’t worry,” his soft growl comforting and familiar, “it isn’t mine.”

Will looked up from his chest, a tear spilling over. Hannibal visibly hesitated, his face coming to a concerned frown, “Will…?”

Will blinked, confused, and felt the sudden wetness. Hannibal’s hand hovered over his cheek, wanting to brush it away, the blood inhibiting him. Will rubbed it away for him, “It was my fault.”

Hannibal cocked his head, “Your fault?”

“Should have heard… that was too close. Far too close,” Will faced the ground, not letting another tear spill over.

Hannibal exhaled slowly and Will felt a sticky hand in his hair, running down to his neck and shoulder, “We are both at fault, then, for not hearing. An old felon such as myself needs better hearing than the cop chasing after him.”

Will looked up to find Hannibal’s self-congratulating smile. He snorted, “Is everything a victory for you?”

“Getting caught wasn’t a victory,” Hannibal sighed and slid his bloody hands down Will’s shoulders, “but as I’m the last man standing…”

Will groaned, “Don’t say it. Just c’mon, let’s get cleaned up.”


	25. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 02/12/16
> 
> Prompted by anonymous. Things you said when i was crying
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rating: G for GUSHING TEARS

He wasn’t mad at Will for pushing them over the cliff. That had been necessary. For Will’s peace of mind if nothing else. He could have stopped him, he had decided not to. It was important they had a fresh start. But there was a catch to that deal. It was to be life or death _together,_ not this-, not this-

“Hannibal,” Chiyoh murmured, walking down from the deck with a lantern, “we need to go. Your wounds-”

“Will heal. Whether we leave now or not.” Hannibal continued to huddle half-frozen on the sand.

Chiyoh hesitated, her light faltering. She took the small step into the radius of Hannibal’s shadow, “At least let me-”

Hannibal shot her with a look and he hoped it felt even slightly akin to what he had felt earlier. Yes, he needed medical attention. Badly. He hadn’t even allowed Chiyoh to touch him after she fished him out of the sea. The first words on his lips had been “Where’s Will?” and they would be all he continued to ask until he had an answer.

Chiyoh stepped timidly out of his circle again, but stood guard, a bobbing glow above him, a light without warmth. 

_Together_. That had been the deal. Death together or life together. They had clasped each other and stood on the edge of possibility and jumped and now… this. This was unacceptable. This was not what he had bargained for.

His whole face tasted of salt. But even now, his tears tasted distinct from the surf and wind and sand coating him. His tears were bitter with loss, and hot with rage, and they almost stung his tongue with fear. He was terrified. The fate that threatened to take over with every long, black second there was no disturbance on the beach, he couldn’t face it.

The tears kept coming, he was scarcely even aware, except for the sudden, distant streak of warmth down his cheek. He would wring out all his tears here if this was really… If this turned out to be…

“Not thinking of dying without me, are you?” Ragged, waterlogged, but-

_“WILL!”  
_

Hannibal was on his feet, speeding to Will faster than Chiyoh, faster than pain, faster than any force on Earth that would stop him from getting there. He rushed into Will’s body in more of a collision than an embrace and just barely managed not to topple Will over by voluntarily falling to his knees, skidding into the dirt beneath him.

“Oof! _Oh_ …” Will swayed, dizzy, surprised. His wavering hand found Hannibal and pushed at him for balance. Dimly he noticed Hannibal was shaking.

Hannibal had latched his arms around Will’s waist. Pain faded into nonexistence, fear, blood, anguish, they all passed. Nothing mattered except that Will was here, alive, in his arms. Hannibal pressed himself hard up against him, a sapling holding up a tree, burying his face against his firm and solid abdomen, hoping, no, deciding, no, promising to never be parted from Will again. To never be further apart than this for longer than was necessary. Very little indeed seemed necessary to him right now.

“You’re still bleeding…” Will murmured, pushing Hannibal’s head up to look at him, “you’re still bleeding…”

Hannibal realized he was having trouble registering Will’s face because his sobs were shaking him so hard. Will’s hand came down, brushed his cheek, his hair, and fell, pointing towards the open, ugly hole in his side. Will fell forward, with no strength left to stand, braced only by Hannibal’s arms. He landed on his knees in front of Hannibal, still held by him, still there in front of him.

Tenderly, Will’s fingers grazed the gaping exit wound. He stared at its void, “You idiot…” he groaned hoarsely, head thrown back.

Hannibal threw himself on Will, sobbing onto his bared shoulder. Speech utterly failed him. He knew his mouth was open, his lips continued to move, mouthing soundless words into Will’s flesh, but there was no coherence and no voice. His cries were beyond the scope of mortal tongue.

Will wrapped his arms around him, let him cry, let himself cry. Together, that was the deal. The deal held true.


	26. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 02/13/16
> 
> Prompt by pope417. "7. Things you said while you were driving. Have a lovely day~ "
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rating: G for gearshift

“When I said we should travel, I did not mean a road trip.”

Will smirked at Hannibal, “Well then, you should have arranged plane tickets.”

“I did.”

“And ensured a minor volcanic eruption wouldn’t prevent us from getting on that flight.”

Hannibal huffed, slouching into the passenger’s seat of the KIA Sorento they’d rented in Augusta, “There were other flights.”

“And if you hadn’t lost patience with the travel agent, we might still be on a plane, instead of trekking across the United States the long way,” Will put the car in gear and they began to roll.

Hannibal shifted, already uncomfortable, “She was rude: eighteen people in line and she took time for a personal phone call and an unnecessarily long bathroom break while transferring our tickets. She took so long the entire process had to be restarted.”

“I told you you’d be in a sour mood if you didn’t take your pain meds right before we got in. Instead, you were wincing and cringing in line and had no patience for the bureaucracy of air travel,” Will tried not to smile.

Hannibal turned and regarded him thoroughly, “You would have killed her too.”

Will’s lips spread, “I didn’t have to,” he turned to Hannibal, eyebrows raised.

Hannibal could only feel warmth for the smug, satisfied look in Will’s eyes. He reached for Will’s hand on the gear shift and traced the elegant bones of his knuckles with his thumb, “You know me too well.”

“I think that comes with trying to kill each other over and over again, you just pick up a few things,” Will glanced at their hands, “but I like the person I’ve come to know.”

Hannibal gently lifted his hand and pretended to check the scenery to hide his blush. He didn’t need Will devouring his heart all at once. But he was such a greedy boy.


	27. Hannigram, T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 03/10/16
> 
> Prompt by kristsune. "If it hasn't been done yet: Hannigram: Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear during inappropriate times? beCAUSE YES XD"
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rating: T for tenting. You know the kind I mean.

“Tasteless.”

“Hmm? What is it, darling?” Hannibal leaned closer, glancing at Will curiously.

“That woman, clearly flirting with you,” Will muttered, adjusting his glasses and opening his playbill.

Hannibal looked back over at the woman with the long dark hair and polka dot dress, “Was she?”

Will glared at Hannibal over his spectacles, then looked back down at the cast list and did not deign to comment.

Hannibal pushed closer to him, scooting his chair around the small table and brushing his fingers briefly over Will’s thigh, “Does it bother you that other people want to flirt with me?”

“It bothers me when it’s done poorly, yes,” Will said a little too quickly, flipping the playbill so sharply he cut himself.

Hannibal’s eyes flicked to the bloodless paper cut, but only for a second. He smiled, “You would feel more congenially if the flirting was done well? Shall I go find someone who could do it properly then?”

Hannibal moved to rise, scanning the faces of the other patrons.

“Hannibal!” Will growled, but quietly enough that only Hannibal could hear.

Hannibal raised an eyebrow, “Then perhaps you do take issue with others flirting with me.” He leaned closer, pressing his mouth a breath away from Will’s ear, “Am I yours, Will? Am I your property?”

Will’s fingers twitched, “Hannibal.”

“Would it upset you to know others are looking at me the way you look at me?” Hannibal didn’t hesitate, rolling smoothly over him, “Does it bother you, feeling their stares, knowing they hunger for me, knowing they want me? Do you long to show them I’m yours? Do you long to disillusion them, once and for all, about where I belong?” Hannibal paused, lowering his eyes and pretending to adjust Will’s collar, just to stroke the fine hairs at the back of his neck, “Who I belong to…?” He punctuated his question with a sharp tug at his hair, making Will’s facade drop for a wince.

“ _Hannibal_ …” Will swallowed, trying to recover.

“Does your mind play scenarios, over and over again, of how I might respond? Do you see yourself losing me? Do you see me with someone else, someone lesser, someone undeserving…?” Hannibal’s breaths were deeper, wetter now, his fingers traced the soft inside of Will’s thigh, almost innocently, “Is it torture, Will? Has jealousy bitten so deeply into your heart you can’t stop yourself from seeing me in someone else’s arms? You can’t convince yourself it isn’t true. Even knowing I could never leave you, even knowing all you are to me… it isn’t enough, is it? Is it too much, Will, just knowing anyone could want me, but you want me only to yourself?”

Hannibal stopped and sat back, looking placid and contained as ever. Only Will could see his cock, rock hard, jutting between his thighs. 

Will looked across at him, afraid that if he moved even a fraction he’d snap, and who knows what would happen then. 

“Wrong. On every count but one,” Will swallowed.

Hannibal’s face only betrayed the slightest twitch of annoyance, “Yes?”

“You are mine,” Will’s lips spread slowly.

Hannibal’s eyes melted instantly. He dropped them and licked his lips slowly, then reached for Will’s hand, brought it to his lips and kissed the back of it as tenderly and lovingly as he kissed far more sensitive parts of Will’s body.

The next moment he rose, buttoning his coat carefully.

“Hannibal,” Will said sharply, glaring at him.

Hannibal cocked his head and grinned, “I believe I owe that woman a drink. Certainly it’s the least I can do considering she won’t get to finish the play.” 

Will sighed slowly and shook his head, “The things I do for you.”

“Oh no, my love,” Hannibal smiled, “The things I do for you.”


	28. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 03/18/16
> 
> Prompt by honestly-adorkable. "1. Things you said at 1 am"
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rating: G for getting rest

“Was it always supposed to go like this?”

Hannibal sat up, rubbing his eyes, trying to rouse himself enough to respond to Will. 

Will sat on the edge of the bed, looking out the open window at the sea they had just escaped.

“Come back to bed,” Hannibal murmured, turning on the bedside lamp with immediate regret.

“We survived. I threw us over the edge, end it all in one last grand gesture. But we survived.”

Hannibal sat up properly, then got up, pouring Will a glass of water and divvying up more painkillers, “Rest, you need rest,” he returned to Will’s side, leaning over him and making him take the water and pills.

“Can’t sleep. Pain’s too much,” Will mumbled, even as he obediently took the pills and the water in his good hand. 

“These will dull the pain and help you sleep,” Hannibal murmured, “You must sleep if you’re going to recover. You can’t avoid it forever.”

“Recovery,” Will laid back, staring up at the ceiling blankly, “I had never considered… recovering from you. But then I think the wound never healed in the first place.”

“You’re not recovering from me,” Hannibal corrected mildly, arranging Will on the bed, gently fluffing the pillows under his head and carefully pulling the covers up over him, “You’re recovering from the ending of our lives.”

“What ending,” Will finally turned his head to look at him, face him, “we’re still alive.”

“Yes,” Hannibal nodded, “But did we not end? Our lives as separate entities are over. Those identities are dead. We start again, anew… together.” Hannibal hesitated, finishing putting away the pills and glass and coming back to bed without facing Will.

Hannibal slid onto his side of the bed and neatly folded the covers over himself. Will still hadn’t responded.

“Go to sleep, Will,” he reminded him, then turned out the light again.

“Is that what comes next?” Will asked, “We continue… together.”

Hannibal rolled over, despite his wounds, despite his fatigue, despite the dark making his face indecipherable, “You choose what comes next, Will. It’s whatever you want it to be.”

Will’s lips twitched, remembering the phrase, “We survived… because we were together. Seems like we ought to give being together a shot.”

Will’s eyes slowly rolled over to Hannibal where he knew the man was watching him. It didn’t matter that neither of them could tell a smile from a frown right now. Watching each other was the one thing they still had. 

“Good night, Will,” Hannibal murmured, after several long seconds, almost too soft to hear.

“Good night, Hannibal,” Will replied, watching him turn back over as he laid down. 

That was a start, at least.


	29. Tristhad, T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 03/20/16
> 
> Prompt by anonymous. "14. things you said after you kissed me"
> 
> King Arthur-verse  
> Pairing: Galahad/Tristan (spelled Tristram because I like it better that way)  
> Rating: T for tension

Galahad was aware of three really quite pertinent things at once: one, he was alive, two, he was out of breath, and three, Tristram was kissing him. Hard.

“Tris- TRISTRAM!” Galahad shouted when Tristram finally broke, releasing him, “What in the SEVEN HELLS was that?!”

Tristram was panting hard, staring at him keenly, “G-Glad you’re alive.”

“A… a clap on the shoulder would have sufficed!” Galahad squealed, shrugging his armor around uncomfortably, unable to quite meet Tristram’s eye, “Glad I’m alive too!”

The last thing he remembered was beheading someone, but his sword got stuck in their thick neck. Another Pict was upon him, BIG one with a claymore, Galahad was only left with his dagger to defend himself. He ducked as the enemy swung the heavy sword. He gambled on the Pict being too slow to react quickly. Unfortunately, in his haste, Galahad slid in the mud, falling backwards, defenseless. His only hope was to thrust the dagger upwards and hope it hit the mark before the claymore split his head in two. 

After that it was all a bit of a blur really. Eyes squeezed tight against the coming blow, the blow never falling, then being heaved to his feet, eyes flying open in surprise, and being momentarily blinded by a thrilling look at the bright, wide open sky, then slamming back down to Earth, onto Tristram’s lips specifically.

Galahad’s head was still reeling from the near-death experience, the elation to find himself alive, and promptly followed by the shock of his first Earthly sensation being Tristram’s lips kissing him in a particularly _not_ _brotherly_ kind of way. Dizzy, confused, he’d automatically kissed back, completely overwhelmed by all the sensations running through him. To his deepening chagrin, he realized it was a _good_ kiss, upon review, he _actually liked it_ … oh god.

Unable to explain or even extricate all his emotions from one another, Galahad took his burning cheeks and turned away into the backslaps and congratulations of the rest of their party, completely ignorant of Tristram standing forlornly off to one side.

There was, of course, a party that night. There was always a party after battle, only thing to help them forget the bloodshed and terror. Normally, Galahad was the life of the party, never prone to carrying the battlefield back with him, but tonight he was jumpy, choosing to remain at his table, drowning himself in a pint, rather than get up and dance.

“It was a rough one today, eh lad?” Bors rumbled up to him, heavy hand abruptly on his shoulder, leaning a little too heavily from a little too much consumption of ale.

“What?! Oh, oh, yes,” Galahad nodded quickly, eyes darting from Bors to the room, back to his pint, “Dreadful.” He drank deeply, hoping to stifle conversation as quickly as possible.

“S’alright, lad. Ye’ made it! Live to fight another day, take heart in that, and don’t think too much on’t,” Bors beamed, squeezing his shoulder roughly, then waddling off to start a fight or drink some more. It could only be one of those options.

Galahad could only manage a polite smile out of habit, not that Bors noticed, and continued clutching and contemplating his drought. He’d need another one soon…

“Hello,” someone spoke low in his ear.

Galahad almost jumped off the bench, smacking his knees into the table, nearly falling and making a complete fool of himself. “T-Tristram!” Galahad gulped, trying to sound normal.

Tristram held up his hands, standing a respectable distance away, “I came to apologize.”

“Oh…” Galahad blinked, faintly disappointed, then nodded hesitantly, “Y-Yes, yes, I see.”

Tristram regarded him for a moment, cocking his head, “May I sit down?”

Galahad licked his lips and longed for another pint, but nodded quickly. “Mmhmmm,” he swallowed, reluctant to open his mouth again.

Tristram bowed his head and seated himself next to Galahad, keeping a comradely, but observed distance between them, “I… was over-zealous greeting you on the battlefield. Forgive me.”

Galahad gulped and tried to tip the mug back one more time, but knew there was nothing left in it. “No need to apologize, I quite understand,” Galahad answered briskly, staring determinedly at nothing in particular.

Tristram’s derisive snort, however, would not allow Galahad to continue pretending everything was ‘fine’.

Galahad’s eyes fell before turning guiltily toward Tristram.

“Something is bothering you, Galahad,” Tristram murmured, turned fully towards Galahad so only he could hear, “You’re hiding something… It’s not like you to hide. And you can’t concentrate in battle if you’re so worried about keeping something secret. Next time, you might not be so lucky…”

Galahad looked up, seeing Tristram look away, thoughtful, frowning, “Perhaps I was thinking about the next time when I kissed you. Perhaps I worried I wouldn’t get a chance to humiliate you like this again…” His eyes flicked towards Galahad’s and Galahad knew he didn’t mean a word of it. Humiliate wasn’t what Tristram had intended to do at all. But he said it to make Galahad feel better, to participate in the reality Galahad wanted to believe in.

Tristram inhaled and started to rise to leave, “Just a th-” He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Or leave. Because Galahad had already started moving towards him, raising his hands to cup his face, that by the time his mouth opened to speak, all Galahad had to do was bring his palms against Tristram’s cheeks, pull him back down, and kiss him long and proper this time.

Tristram stayed put. Absolutely still, except his lips, which sucked and teased and pressed against Galahad’s. Galahad’s fuzzy brain had told him 3 seconds ago this was a good idea, that kissing Tristram again would solve all his problems. What Galahad’s fuzzy brain forgot about was the dozens of people around who could see them at any time and Galahad’s embarrassing secret crush on Tristram that no one was supposed to know about.

But, as he kissed Tristram, Galahad’s fuzzy brain high-fived itself because this was really, _really_ nice. Galahad started giggling, breaking the kiss, eyes barely open, “Hee… it tickles. My lips are buzzing ‘cause I kissed you… heehee…”

“Is it nice, then? Kissing me?” Tristram asked, tucking Galahad’s curls behind his ear.

Galahad giggled some more, lacing his hands behinds Tristram’s neck and pulling him closer, “Yes!”

“Good,” Tristram smiled, kissing him again. And very pointedly not making any comments about the half dozen people staring at them. Galahad didn’t need to know that everyone knew _just_ yet. At least not until he had pulled Galahad onto his lap and… well, everyone didn’t need to know about _that_ either.


	30. Spacedogs, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 03/20/16
> 
> Prompt by louma-fox. "6. things you said under the stars and in the grass "
> 
> Spacedogs-verse  
> Pairing: Adam/Nigel  
> Rating: G for galaxies

“Fucking rain,” Nigel swore, stepping inside looking like a drowned cat, “I fucking hate fucking Seattle’s fucking weather.” He stamped out his drenched cigarette angrily.

Adam stayed at the window, staring up at the rain lovingly, “I love the rain.”

“What the fuck for?!” Nigel pouted, ringing out his hair on the welcome mat, contemplating if he ought to wring out his shirt too or just strip it off.

Adam finally turned towards him, “Rain clears the atmosphere of particulates and contaminants. It’s excellent conditions for stargazing,” Adam sighed and wriggled excitedly, staring back up at the clouds with wonder.

Nigel stared at him, “You want to go fucking stargazing when it’s pouring fucking buckets out there?”

“No, of course not,” Adam frowned, “the water would damage the telescope.”

“Well thank fuck for that,” Nigel muttered, stripping off his shirt and throwing it carelessly into the bathtub to drain.

“Tonight, after the sky clears,” Adam chirped.

Nigel halted in the doorway to his bedroom, on his way to a new shirt, and groaned, “For fuck’s saaaaake!”

And that was how Nigel found himself sitting on the extremely wet ground late at night with Adam and his telescope and his fucking stars. The blanket they’d brought was no help, he was sure his ass was turning all wrinkly like a raisin from the cold wet. Ugh… not exactly instilling him with confidence. Just his luck he’d fall in love with someone who’d put him so entirely out of his comfort zone and competency levels.

“Wow,” Adam breathed, “You can see everything right now! It’s so clear, even with the naked eye!”

“Thank you for coming with me,” he added abruptly, “I normally do this by myself. But um… I’ve found that I like company when I’m charting stars.”

Nigel glanced at him and shrugged, “No problem, nothing was on cable anyway.” He hadn’t even checked. But it was better than saying, ‘I adore you so fucking much I’d watch paint dry with you if you let me,’ which, while true, was not high on the list of things Nigel wanted to admit before formally asking Adam out. They were just… roommates. Roommates with the potential for more, good roommates even, but still… roommates.

Adam sat back from his instrument and just stared up at the sky, the cold and wet seeming not to bother him at all, “There’s Orion, Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, the tail of Draco…” Adam traced the little pinpricks of light with his finger, years of memorization and practice serving him well. Nigel, in truth, could never tell what the fuck Adam was pointing at, but then he tended to watch Adam more than the stars anyway.

But tonight… they really did look fucking spectacular. “Orion… that’s the hunter, right?” Nigel asked, “With the… three stars on his belt, yeah?”

Adam turned to him and nodded, beaming, “Yes, exactly! I didn’t know you knew Greek mythology.”

Nigel’s cheeks grew warm, “Studied in high school… a long time ago,” he muttered, bowing his head. 

“So, um… what star signs are out now?” Nigel cleared his throat, changing the subject.

“Star signs?” Adam looked up blankly.

“You know, the zodiac, the twelve signs in the heavens, one for every month?”

“Mmmpf!” Adam’s face squirmed the way it did whenever Nigel said something that was in no way backed by scientific fact, “You’re thinking of astrology, not astronomy. It’s uh… not real, it’s made up by people. The stars don’t actually govern your life.” Adam returned to his telescope, tense and uncomfortable.

Nigel laughed, “I know that! I fucking know they don’t.”

Adam glanced away, but didn’t relax, “Then why did you ask me?”

“Well…” Nigel sighed reluctantly, scratching the back of his neck. He swallowed, but decided to bite the bullet, “To be perfectly fucking honest Adam, I don’t know a fucking thing about space or stars or any of it. And I just said the first fucking thing I knew about stars because I know you’re into that and… I thought I should fucking… y’know.”

“You wanted to engage me on my interests,” Adam stated.

Nigel cleared his throat and nodded, “Yeah. That.”

Adam turned toward him and scooted closer, “Nigel, I appreciate that. Thank you.” He looked up at him, wide-eyed and grateful and so wholesome Nigel wanted to cry or puke. It was like no one had ever been fucking nice to him in his life and… jesus fucking christ, Nigel couldn’t bear to think about that.

Nigel ducked his head again, “It was stupid, I’m sorry. No fucking astrology from now on.”

“Aries,” Adam replied.

“What?” Nigel turned, confused.

“Technically Pisces until tomorrow, you can just see the constellation dipping over the horizon, if you want to look,” Adam beckoned Nigel to his telescope.

Nigel blinked, stunned and honored. Carefully, he leaned over the eye piece, letting Adam’s timid fingers help him adjust and focus on the two fish.

“You see them?” Adam asked softly, “Look for the box, a big square connected by four bright white stars. Underneath it is a long V and that’s the fish, Pisces.”

“Fuck me, I do!” Nigel grinned, “so that’s the fish leaping out of the water? God fucking damn.”

Nigel leaned back, stunned. He squinted at the night sky and way off, way at the very edge of the horizon, he could make out the box and the little cluster of stars next to it for one of the fish, “How’d you know where to find it?” Nigel cocked his head at Adam.

“While astrology is, at best, pseudoscience, all of the constellations it uses are real and found in the night sky,” Adam explained, screwing the telescope back into focus for himself, “And I once confused astrology and astronomy myself,” he smiled sheepishly at Nigel.

Nigel felt his heart in his throat and smiled back, “We all make mistakes, Adam. Even the bright fucking stars out there like you.”

Adam was frowning, puzzled, then understanding dawned on him. “Oh, I’m not… I’m not one of the bright stars,” Adam hunched his shoulders, trying to hide in them, facing directly away from Nigel, “But um… th-thank you for the compliment.”

Nigel decided it was good to shut up after that. But then Adam started shivering. He determinedly continued gazing and charting his stars, but his teeth were starting to chatter.

Nigel frowned, “Adam? You’re freezing, it’s time to go home.”

“Hmmm?” Adam looked up, surprised, “Oh-oh… s-sorry. S-sometimes I get lost in what I’m doing and I f-f-forget to pay attention to my b-body.”

“Well, we can’t fucking have that. C’mon, you’re probably stone cold by now, tell me what I can pack up and let’s get going,” Nigel stood, stretching, then instantly regretted it, finding a cold stream running down the back of his pants. Fucking perfect.

Adam slowly collected his notebooks and started on the telescope, shivering terribly. Nigel leaned over to help. “I g-got it,” Adam pouted, “I’ve always d-done it before.”

Nigel sighed, “Because you didn’t have anyone to fucking help before.”

Adam paused, “You c-can collapse the tripod.”

Nigel smirked, doing so, then folding the blanket up and getting it all together to be carried home. Adam finally stood, arms folded, practically blue in the face.

Nigel shook his head. “Here, take my jacket,” he shrugged it off effortlessly.

“What?!” Adam shrieked, “N-no, then you’ll get cold.”

“I’m a fucking furnace, Adam,” Nigel winked, “I’ll be fine.” Insisting, he slung his leather jacket around Adam’s narrow shoulders, “Put your arms through it when you can, it’ll keep you nice and warm.” Nigel smiled, down to just a t shirt and carrying all of Adam’s things.

Adam stared at him, but pulled the jacket tight around him, “You’re sure you’re alright?”

Nigel beamed, leading the way home, “Never better. Never fucking better.”

Cold and wet in all kinds of unpleasant ways, but for the fucking smile on Adam’s face, he’d take a year of rain.


	31. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 03/24/16
> 
> Prompt by me. Home Making.
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rating: G for gushy romance

Will cocked his head at it. It didn’t make any logical sense. It shouldn’t be here. Why was it here?

“Hannibal?”

“Yes?” Hannibal called from the kitchen where he was slicing lemon.

“What is that?” Will pointed to the rectangular, soft, plum-colored piece of fabric that seemed to have developed a parasitic relationship with the couch.

Hannibal leaned out over the counter and observed, “It’s a throw blanket.” He returned to his half-finished lemon.

“…what’s it doing here?” Will continued to stare at it in disbelief.

“It gets chilly some nights,” Hannibal responded, not looking up, “I thought it would be a useful alternative to turning up the thermostat.”

They had moved out of Baltimore as soon as their injuries would allow and holed up in a little flat in Rochester. Not nearly as far as Will would like, not far enough by half, but it was good enough for now. 

They had been here two days and… Hannibal was buying throw blankets.

“You… went out to buy a throw blanket?” Will looked up at him, disbelieving.

“No, not just a throw blanket. I also needed fresh herbs for dinner tonight. Thank you for providing the meat, again,” Hannibal nodded, smiling as he moved further into the kitchen to retrieve tonight’s main course.

Will’s eyes fell back to the throw blanket. Fresh herbs, as unguarded a purchase as that was, Will could understand. Hannibal did have his… stubborn peculiarities. But a throw blanket was something else entirely. What that ‘something else’ was Will couldn’t put a name on. He’d either have to allow himself to puzzle over it until he figured it out or forget the whole thing and mark it up to Hannibal’s peculiarities.

“Will, would you come here? I need you to taste this for me.”

Rising from his seat, Will opted for the latter option.

After an exquisite dinner, with plenty of left overs for Hannibal to play with during the week, they relaxed on the couch together. Hannibal, at his corner, immersed in a borrowed copy of _Paradise Lost_ and Will, at the opposite end, meticulously combing through the local newspaper and unscrambling the Daily Jumble. Somehow, the purple throw ended up between them, wrapping around them, holding them together. Neither of them minded.

-

After that Will started to notice a lot of trappings starting to appear around the apartment. New towels, new sheets, new clothing: not just any new clothing, the clothing Hannibal _liked_ wearing, the kind of clothing Will hadn’t seen him in for years. Not a suit, no… not yet anyway, but of a significantly higher quality than prison uniforms and bargain bins, which they had survived off of for awhile. 

There were new utensils in the kitchen, new tools, new settings. Hannibal would complain about the dullness of a cheap, used knife one day and the next there was a brand new linoleum knife block sitting by the stove. 

And for the most part, Will didn’t worry about it. After all, a lot of these new purchases were things they needed to buy anyway; there was little harm done in Hannibal buying to his preference for these things. His tastes, while expensive, were at least mainstream when it came to possessions rather than food. Most of Hannibal’s purchases served a deliberate, explicit purpose and Will couldn’t really find it in his heart to complain that Hannibal was also making the flat seem more amicable and… homey. 

“Thank you,” Will said, accepting a warm mug of tea and honey from Hannibal. Will was, to be honest, fairly fond of the new mugs, he’d missed drinking from glazed ceramic.

Hannibal settled next to him in his usual spot on the couch, “You should go shopping too, Will.”

Will looked up, blinking, “Shop? Shop for what?”

“Psychologically, it would do you a world of good. It helps you relax in a place when you recognize things in it as yours,” Hannibal explained.

“Uh… I don’t really shop,” Will excused himself, returning his eyes to the newspaper.

“Then how will this place ever become yours too if you don’t put anything into it?” Hannibal mused.

Will paused, eyes widening. “I just… don’t buy things,” he mumbled, “Besides, anything I could want, I’m sure you’d have already bought a better version of it.” He flicked a small smile at Hannibal, “You make this… very livable.”

Hannibal’s lips drew up warmly, “Thank you.” He exhaled slowly, then adjusted his seat, moving closer in the process, “There is really nothing that you want to have here?”

Will shook his head, eyes on the paper in front of him, “Nothing I want.”

Hannibal squinted at him, critical, but said nothing. Will huffed, frustrated with this week’s Jumble, and moved a little closer to Hannibal for the light on the other side of him. They sat together, again, under the purple blanket almost touching. Quiet, content, but not quite as peaceful as before. Not quite.

-

There was a box of tackle on his bed. Not just any box, not a new box. His box of tackle. 

“Hannibal?” Will found him on the couch, waiting. He might be looking up from the book in his lap, but Will knew waiting when he saw it. “Where did you get that?”

“I thought about how you said you didn’t want anything,” Hannibal said simply, looking up at him, “nothing to make this place feel more like home to you. I couldn’t find or buy or make you anything that would do that.”

“Where did you get it?” Will repeated, softly.

“Your house.”

Will swallowed thickly, “You went to… Molly and Walter-”

“I asked Chiyoh,” Hannibal’s lips twitched in a smile, “She couldn’t get all of your lures, of course, or your rods. If you want them, I‘m sure-”

Will hauled him up by the collar and kissed him hard. Hannibal turned to rock, surprise with a little desperate ray of hope etched on his face. 

Will squeezed his eyes tight, yanking on Hannibal’s perfectly starched collar, and kissing him for several long minutes until the shock and anger and desperation wore off. Until the kiss turned from relief to something a thousand times more palpable.

He loosened his grip on Hannibal’s collar, letting him stand at ease, but kept his eyes shut tight, panting, “You brought me my lures so I would feel at home.”

Hannibal cautiously stroked a hand down Will’s side, feeling the tension rippling through him, sharing it, “I brought you your lures to make this your home,” he murmured.

Will opened his eyes and watched Hannibal swallow uncertainly. He knew what Hannibal meant, what Hannibal hoped for, was that Will would consider Hannibal his home now. Will bit his lip, “Where am I ever going to use those?” 

Hannibal blinked, “We’ll move somewhere close to a river.”

Will tilted his head, looking up at him, “Doesn’t that imply that my home isn’t here at all? Or rather that it’s…” Will ran a hand up over his chest, “here?”

Hannibal couldn’t move, could only wait for Will to come to him, reach up to him again, kiss him again. Will threaded his fingers into his hair and kissed him properly.

Together, they cuddled under the purple blanket that night, resolved that domesticity had its perks when you were making a home for each other.


	32. Tristhad, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 04/12/16
> 
> Prompt by me. Fluff for Tristhad week.
> 
> King Arthur-verse  
> Pairing: Galahad/Tristan (I spell it Tristram because I like it better)  
> Rating: G for grumpy cuddling

“Okay, I’ll say it, we’re lost,” Galahad sniffed, turning in his saddle to glare back at Tristram.

Tristram rolled his eyes, nudging his horse closer up to Galahad’s, “We’re not lost, I’ll send my eyes here out looking for Arthur and then we’ll regroup.” Tristram halted and dismounted to take his falcon out of her carrying cage.

“The necessity of regrouping implies that we are, in fact, lost,” Galahad sneered, turning his horse around to dismount next to Tristram, “on account of your bloody shortcut.”

Tristram released his bird and glanced dryly at Galahad, “I suppose you’d rather we had stuck to the main road where we would have undoubtedly been set by Woads?”

“You don’t know that,” Galahad scoffed, folding his arms against the cold, damp night.

“Don’t I?” Tristram didn’t bother waiting for Galahad’s exasperated sigh, knowing he was right, “We ought to break camp in the meanwhile, the night will freeze us to death first if we don’t.”

“And you chose to stop in a field of mud it seems,” Galahad kept niggling, noticing the unpleasant squish under his feet.

Tristram’s shoulders finally began to tense in annoyance, “I didn’t know we’d be breaking for camp when I stopped. Shall we move on a few yards?” he snapped.

Galahad already had his horse’s reins and was looking back at Tristram impatiently. Tristram scowled, following him down the sodden path a few feet to where it was slightly dryer, the way covered by trees.

“There, better,” Galahad sighed, hitching his horse to the closest low hanging branch, “Now which one of us is going to unpack and which one is on firewood duty?”

Tristram threw a large stick at him, “Fetch.”

Galahad caught it deftly, but stared indignantly at Tristram, mouth agape, “I am _not_ fifteen anymore! You can’t just order me around like-”

“You still there complaining, pup?” Tristram raised his voice over him, turning his back to him as he unloaded the saddlebags.

Galahad stormed off into the underbrush, thwacking the stick against a tree trunk as he went.

If there was one thing Galahad resented, and boy there were a lot of things, it was being patronized. He might still be the youngest in the troupe, but he’d more than proven himself in battle and besides which, he was 20 now, fully grown and fully capable and fully not in need of condescending pricks like Tristram treating him like he was still a boy.

Galahad scowled as he hauled branches into his arms, damning his luck to get stuck out on patrol with Tristram. It wasn’t that he necessarily disliked Tristram, he was more interesting than Bors and less unbearable than Lancelot, but it was just that Tristram was always treating him like he didn’t know any better. Like he was still fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, like he still needed protection. It was just so infuriating not to be given credit for anything or trusted to do anything.

Galahad realized, belatedly, that it was late at night and there was no fire to lead him back to camp. Turning around, he found he couldn’t see camp at all; he’d marched way too far into the woods. Alright, not a disaster. Galahad curled his arms a little tighter around the thick bundle of sticks and started walking back the way he came, pretty sure he remembered the way, even though he hadn’t been paying as close attention as he ought to have.

The forest was close and dark and wet. If it had been dry, he might have caught moonlight reflected off the bark, but, as it was, all of the light from the sky was just absorbed into the thick shadows all around him. A branch snapped behind him. Galahad whirled, dropping half his bundle as he reached for his knife.

“Galahad!” Tristram put out a hand, stopping him.

“Oh! It’s you,” Galahad sighed, trying not to sound too relieved, “What’re you doing here?” He bent over, picking up his branches again.

“You were taking forever, I wondered where you’d gotten to,” Tristram moved to help him pick up the branches but Galahad deliberately stepped in his way.

“I was just on my way back,” Galahad pouted, “I was doing fine until you showed up.”

“Mmm, yes, I’m sure you would have made it back to camp safe and sound while headed in the wrong direction,” Tristram muttered pointedly, clasping his hands behind his back.

Galahad glared, straightening up with his bundle, “Am I supposed to thank you now?”

“Only if you didn’t want me to find your body ravaged by wolves in the morning,” Tristram countered, leading the way.

“Then _thank_ you, _so_ much,” Galahad groaned, trotting up behind Tristram, burning holes into the mud with his eyes.

In surprisingly little time, they made it back to the horses. Galahad dumped his sticks unceremoniously, leaving Tristram to actually build the fire and start it. Galahad walked over to his pack to search for his traveling cloak.

“Where is it? Where… oh damn it,” Galahad thumped his fist against his forehead.

Tristram looked up, digging out his flint to start the fire, “What is it?”

“I leant my cloak to Gawain when it started raining, I forgot,” Galahad winced, then bit his lip, hiding it. That was fine. What was a little cold? Nothing he couldn’t withstand.

Tristram said nothing, but continued to scrape sparks from the flint, trying to get the fire going. The tinder finally caught and Tristram breathed over the fire, encouraging it to take.

“Pity there’s only wet branches, this is going to smoke like hell, but it’s better than nothing,” Tristram sat back, folding his arms around his knees.

Galahad rolled his eyes, flopping down on the opposite side of the meager flame, “I suppose that’s my fault too?” Galahad huffed, looking away down the path and not noticing Tristram frowning at him and not saying anything.

The breeze picked up, blowing smoke into Galahad’s face. He coughed and tried to wave it away, but there was just too much.

“Come sit over here,” Tristram called to him.

“Over there… with you?” Galahad asked between coughs, “I don’t think so.” He tried to laugh over the smoke.

“If you don’t, I’ll come over there and get you,” Tristram growled.

Galahad gave up, trudging over to Tristram where he could breathe again, and crouched next to him, even more disgruntled and pissy than usual. “Happy?” he snapped, voice rough from the smoke.

“No,” Tristram deadpanned.

Galahad groaned, rolling his eyes. Tristram definitely lacked rhetorical grace in his opinion. Galahad sighed, trying to relax. He looked into the fire as is slowly started to eat away at the branches. The light it provided was invaluable, but it wasn’t giving off much heat yet. He rubbed his bare arms against the chill night, really starting to miss his cloak.

Tristram suddenly rose and walked away. Galahad didn’t pay him much mind, but he startled when something soft fell over him. He pulled it off, recognizing Tristram’s travel cloak and blinked up at him.

“Take it,” Tristram grunted, settling back down next to him.

Galahad opened his mouth, prepared to reject it. “Oh, throw it on the fire for all I care!” Tristram snarled before he could start. He looked away, shoulders set.

Galahad gulped and reconsidered. He _was_ cold, it would be stupid to reject it just because Tristram had given it to him. He stroked the soft wool a moment before throwing it around his shoulders. He glanced at Tristram, the way he’d tilted himself away from the fire just so Galahad could ignore him easier. Galahad edged closer and carefully slid half of the cloak around Tristram’s shoulders. He cleared his throat, “We might as well share.”

Tristram turned into him, letting their hips touch. He nodded silently and looked out at the fire. Unfortunately, if they didn’t have their sides pressed together, arms almost interlocked, the cloak kept falling off Tristram’s shoulders, no matter how many times Galahad tugged it back into place.

“Just… stay there!” Galahad grunted in frustration, reaching across Tristram’s chest to pull the fabric over his shoulder, hoping now it would stay. He felt Tristram’s eyes on him and looked up to find him smiling faintly. Galahad’s lips twitched, his face warming as he looked away, “You’re not um… cold are you?”

Tristram cocked his head, as if the question required serious thought. He leaned forward and wrapped an arm around Galahad’s shoulders, pulling him close, “I’m fine.”

Galahad fumbled, eyes wide, unsure how to respond to all of this, “G-Good, good.” He swallowed, nodding, and looked at anything that wasn’t Tristram. Strangely, Tristram’s arm around him didn’t feel at all uncomfortable.

Now, the cloak managed not to fall off as they huddled together under it. The fire had finally grown into a merry bush of flame, sweet cherry red in the center, filling their little clearing with warmth. Galahad’s eyelids started to droop, exhausted from the long day, lulled into relaxation by the heat. His head bowed and nudged against Tristram’s shoulder. Tristram looked over at his younger companion and didn’t budge, letting him rest on him.

Galahad’s eyes finally shut completely and he let his head fall against Tristram, sighing gently. All told, this really wasn’t so bad, it was really pretty… nice. He didn’t know how long he dozed there, but after some time, he felt Tristram shift and his eyes flew open.

“Shhh,” Tristram looked back at him, he’d only moved to tend the fire as it was going out. He rubbed his hand up and down Galahad’s arm, reassuring him. Galahad relaxed before he was consciously aware of it, responding instantly to Tristram’s touch and presence.

“It’s alright,” Tristram sighed, sitting back and hugging him closer. Galahad couldn’t find the heart to object and actually whined faintly, feeling a faint draft where Tristram had shifted and snuggling closer until he was all warm again. He was so tired and comfortable he really couldn’t be bothered to consider what he was doing at the moment.

Galahad all but curled up in his arms, sighing happily when he laid his head against his arm again, shutting his eyes and slipping back into sleep almost instantly. Just before he slipped under though, he was aware of a pressure over his head, like someone petting his curls. It dimly occurred to him to wonder if Tristram was comfortable too. He tried to force himself to speak, but before he could manage it, Tristram’s voice floated into his ear, “Go to sleep, I’m alright.” Galahad smiled and obediently fell asleep in his arms.


	33. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 04/20/16
> 
> Prompt by me, for openheart-wickedmind. "A gentle reminder that Will Graham loves Hannibal Lecter a whole lot and always did. Even when it was inconvenient. For the both of them."
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rating: G for gag-worthy amount of alcohol

_Ding dong._

Hannibal started from his bed. Whoever was ringing his doorbell at this time of night was not going to live to ring anyone else’s.

_Ding dong._

_Ding dong._

_Ding dong._

Hannibal threw on his robe, clattering down the stairs to his front door, a frozen look in his eye. This was beyond rude, this was-

“Hiiii Do’torrr Le’terrr,” Will tried to straighten up in front of him, slowly smiling as he registered Hannibal standing in the doorway. Hannibal felt the gears of his mind skip a tooth and the whole machine jammed together. A midnight snack would evidently have to be postponed.

“May I come in?” Will tried to bow elegantly but his sense of balance was so off he almost planted his face in Hannibal’s doorway.

Hannibal grimaced and stood back, giving him room, “Please.”

Will beamed, “Thank you,” but misplaced the first step and tripped over the entryway. Hannibal’s reflexes reacted faster than he did, catching him before he could hit the floor, and half-dragged him inside, closing the door quickly.

“Oof!” Will leaned on him, winded, even while Hannibal tried to haul him upright again. Will just collapsed on him, throwing his arms around his neck with a sigh, “Ohhhh yesh, tha’s mush bedderr.” His eyes closed, resting his full weight on Hannibal, clinging to him.

“You’ve been drinking,” which was to say the least, honestly. Specifically, Will had been drinking beer, then scotch, then a boilermaker or two, and then tequila, before falling into Hannibal’s arms. It was a… disgusting concoction of scents, but Hannibal doubted Will cared for how offensive he smelled at the moment.

Will giggled, “Yesss… can you guessss where? Tha’ special nose of yours… smells everythin’.” He tried to lean back to see Hannibal’s face but couldn’t quite manage it while clinging to Hannibal’s neck like he was.

Hannibal sighed, rolling his eyes, and turned toward the kitchen, dragging Will along, “We’ll save my olfactory parlor tricks for another time, Will.”

Will pouted, disappointed, and whined with no regard to how close he was to Hannibal’s ear, making him wince, “But I _know_ you know… you always know.” He stopped and frowned, pressing himself closer, “Thiss ish nice,” he muttered.

Hannibal shifted uncomfortably and deposited Will in a chair, scooting it close to the counter so he couldn’t go anywhere or hurt himself, then tried to extricate himself from Will’s grasp, with limited success.

“You didn’t come here just to make me smell where you had been,” Hannibal tried hard not to snap at his overly clingy patient, “Why did you come to see me?”

Will looked up at him brightly, arms now around his waist, “I wanted to see you!” He smiled up at him blithely, innocent and ignorant in a way Will never was sober. It disturbed Hannibal more than he thought it might seeing him this way.

“I missed you,” Will nuzzled into his abdomen, refusing to let go of Hannibal, “Tha’s why I wen’ drinking.”

Hannibal stood stiff and very still and tried to encourage Will as little as possible, “You went drinking because you missed me?” he asked uneasily.

Will nodded, his arms suddenly tightening, “You don’t have Saturday appointments. I couldn’t see you.” He enunciated perfectly.

The gears of Hannibal’s mind were turning again, though slowly. “You could have called…” he murmured gently, “if something was wrong-”

“I didn’t want to see you for _therapy_ ,” Will hissed, put out. He looked up at Hannibal hard, jaw set.

Hannibal swallowed. This was… unexpected. If this had been anyone else but Will, if anyone else but Will had come to his door tonight, he knew what he would have done, he knew how he would have felt, but this… He wasn’t sure, at all, how he felt about this. The uncertainty left him in fear. The fear gummed up his mind like tar between the gears, sticky and slow and catching where it was meant to run smooth.

Will was looking up at him, licking his lips. Will took his hand, using him for balance as he stood back up, swaying with the movement, leaning hard into him, chest to chest, feet tangled together.

“I wanted t’see you, Do’tor Lecter… Hannibal…” Will sighed and crushed their mouths together, sloppy, unfocused, almost unintentional. It was not a good kiss. But it still overwhelmed him. Will, drunk, out of control, almost mindless, was using every bit of intention he had left to kiss him like he meant it. It was not a good kiss. But Hannibal was shaking anyway.

It was simple to lean away and let Will fall to his shoulder, panting, and yet he didn’t for the longest time, paralyzed. Will took no notice, just embraced him, caressed him, moaned into his ear, “Fuck me. Please fuck me, Hannibal.”

Hannibal’s arms mechanically rose up and with a nudge set Will back in the chair. “Will, you’re drunk,” he made himself look at Will, trying to sound normal, relaxed and authoritative. It bothered him how tight and anxious he sounded, he _shouldn’t_ sound like this.

“Fuck me anyway,” Will begged, looking up at him, mouth parted, “I want you, I _need_ you…” There was a conscious intensity to his voice that made Hannibal’s stomach tighten. “You’re the only… the only person I feel like myself with. You’re the only person who sees me. _Please_ fuck me,” Will whimpered at him, reaching out for him, “I want you, I want you so much I can’t stand it.”

Hannibal wanted to shut him up, shut his ears, anything. He shouldn’t be hearing this, he couldn’t… he wasn’t supposed to know this. But… when had it ever bothered him before knowing things he shouldn’t? Wouldn’t he pull these secrets out of Will eventually anyway? Why did it feel like betrayal if Will told him of his own volition? Why did he _feel_ like this?

“Yes, I’ll fuck you, Will,” Hannibal nodded slowly, “but first let me get you something.” Hannibal waited for Will’s hands to finally drop before edging away.

Will looked after him eagerly, blinking curiously, “What is it?”

“Something nice,” Hannibal’s voice sounded like a stranger to him. He took down a glass and filled it with tap water before unlocking one of his cupboards and rummaging inside for the drug he wanted. He did everything not to look at Will, to ignore him as much as possible.

Will started to frown, “You’re not stalling are you? If… if you don’t want me…”

“Not at all,” Hannibal forced himself to smile at him, “I do want you, very much. This is just to help with… the pain,” he finished lamely, stirring the draught frantically until the water went clear again.

“Just drink this, then I’ll fuck you,” Hannibal returned to him, smiling at him, the smiling getting easier, “I promise.”

Will accepted it and drank deeply, the alcohol having dehydrated him significantly. Will’s nose scrunched, “Tastes awful.”

“I’m sorry,” Hannibal heard himself say. His fingers ran through Will’s hair, cupped his cheek. Will looked up at him and smiled so wholly, so gratefully, something inside Hannibal gave with a painful tear. Will finished the glass and managed to set it back on the table before passing out.

Hannibal exhaled for what felt like an hour. He needed to sit down too, he wasn’t sure his legs could continue supporting him. Will sat next to him, fast asleep, in an extremely uncomfortable position, but nonetheless, asleep. Hannibal looked at him and tried to will himself to get up, get the metronome, to take this perfect opportunity to plunder more of Will’s psyche. His body refused to move.

He looked at Will for a long time, thinking his feelings would resolve themselves into conviction. They didn’t. An hour later, he felt no less conflicted about what to do than he had when he’d put Will to sleep.

Hannibal made himself stand up, body stiff. He swung Will into his arms. He carried Will upstairs. He took off his heavy winter coat, reeking of those boilermakers. He removed his shoes and socks and belt. He tucked Will into bed. He laid out a filled pitcher, cistern, and glass on the night stand alongside a washcloth. The drugs would not help with the hangover, unfortunately. He turned off the light and closed the door.

Hannibal returned to his own room and laid down gratefully in his own bed. Every nerve felt exhausted. But all he could do was watch the dawn rise with the terrible knowledge of what had happened last night. His mask was wearing too thin. He needed to fix that before Will saw him and saw too much. That couldn’t happen; he wasn’t ready to be seen. But… perhaps, soon he would be.


	34. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 04/25/16  
> Prompt by me. Lighthouse AU, based on a photoset by cappellapalatina
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rated: G for great seamanship

Lighthouse keeper was not a fashionable job. The pay was terrible, the lodgings were cramped, the temperature was either too cold and clammy to move or too hot and muggy to care. And it was a largely outdated job now, what with the light being radio controlled on the mainland. But there were still some advantages to having a person actually on hand on the tiny island in case of any accidents or emergencies and that was why the state continued to pay him.

Will didn’t mind; he got to live alone with his dogs, undisturbed by society and that was how he liked it. He was never required to socialize and could never be judged or misinterpreted, all alone on his rocky spit. The only people he saw were seafaring folk, the kind of people he’d grown up with; he knew how to handle them and they knew how to handle him. That was better. 

And they never stayed for long anyway, just stopping by on a supply run or, on the rarer but more interesting occasions, when their ship had a malfunction and they had to dock quickly. Will liked these visits. He’d always been good with his hands and enjoyed putting right whatever was wrong with the boats that came to him. Invariably, he could help, small craft or large, new or old, didn’t matter to him.

“You’re wasted here, Will,” they would sometimes say, “why don’t you give it up? _Anything_ else would pay more.”

Will would just shake his head. He’d tried life on the mainland. He’d tried fitting in, working their 9 to 5 lives in their little boxes with their namebrand clothing that always smelled like detergent instead of salt and not a mark on their polished skin. It had been like living on Mars to him. This, this life, between wind and water and rock, that was what he knew and that was what he wanted. 

But… even he sometimes thought of travel. The open possibility of the sea was so near and so tempting, even Will sometimes wondered… but he had his dogs and his books and his lighthouse. He had enough. He didn’t need more.

One day a cargo ship passed by, blowing black smoke, the engine stuttering bad. Will frowned, that ship wasn’t going to make it to port, it needed help _now_. Sure enough, the ship limped towards him and he was hailed on the radio.

“I know this is an unusual request, but could we dock at your lighthouse before we can get tugged back into port for repairs?”

“Of course. I might be able to help you here. I don’t have any replacement parts, but I should be able to patch you up enough to get back to Baltimore.”

“You can patch a cracked engine while the boat’s still in the water?” the captain sounded surprised.

Will snorted to himself, “Won’t hurt to let me try.”

The boat docked, Will’s herd of dogs all yapping excitedly at the pier. Will walked down to help secure the ropes and waited for the disbelieving captain to make his appearance. A few crew secured the ropes with him, but for a long moment there was nothing, no movement, no voices calling orders. Will stood at the docks, steadfast against the wind, and waited patiently with his hands clasped behind his back.

Finally, a tall man in a visor hat appeared and walked down the gangplank straight to him. Dark, sparkling eyes appeared under the visor and silver beard, still flecked with a sandy sort of brown. Will appraised him had to admit he was better looking than most captains.

They stood face to face at last, the captain cocking his head at him a few inches above him, “You’re much younger than I expected.”

“I often give that impression,” Will muttered, nonplussed.

“I’ve already radioed the dock and they’re sending someone out to pick us up.”

Will read the challenge loud and clear, “I’d better get cracking then,” he shook his arms out and proceeded up the gangplank.

“Would you mind if I watched you work?” the captain followed him, sounding somewhat amused.

Will shrugged, “Suit yourself, doesn’t bother me. I will need to know how it happened.”

The captain’s tongue hit his hard palate with a precise _click_ , clearly displeased. “We set out from Baltimore barely an hour ago, everything was working then. But no sooner had we lost sight of the docks then the engines began to strain. Before I could halt our progress or determine the cause of the issue, there was a loud crack and one engine is now completely non-functional. The other appears to be working perfectly.” The captain, however sounded more confused and frustrated by this than pleased.

“You want to know what went wrong,” Will nodded, unbuttoning his coat in the heat of the engine room.

The captain sighed and Will noticed his posture relaxing, “I would be grateful.”

Will glanced at him, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Captain Hannibal Lecter,” the man bowed, a scintillating smile curving his mouth, “And I never received yours.” 

“Will Graham,” Will sighed, moving down the narrow path between the engines, “I’ll do my best to tell you what happened.”

He peered at the broken engine. There was a sharp, perfect crack running through the gear plates, symmetrical all the way through. Will nodded knowingly, “There was a hairline crack, easy to miss, too fine to be picked up on inspection. Wherever you brought her in for service last, they didn’t do a good job treating the iron and it weakened. Only a matter of time for it to crack like this.” Will nodded to the hot metal, “I can patch it up with solder alloy, but it won’t get you very far and you’d be wise to run at half power. Your engine will have to be entirely replaced, the damage here is irreparable.”

Will paused, looking at Captain Lecter, the visor shading his eyes, but Will saw his stance. Someone was going to pay for this. _Dearly_.

“I’m sorry,” Will muttered, moving to leave the ship.

The captain stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Will froze and resisted the instinct to shake him off immediately. Touch was… not something he felt often. He was unsure how to react to it.

“Thank you, Will,” the captain told him firmly, “there’s no cause to be sorry.”

“I um… sorry about the damage, the cost… I’m sure this will set you back a few months while you’re replacing it,” Will stumbled.

The captain sighed and at last let go, “It will. But please don’t fret over that. The money is nothing, the time…” he paused and Will turned back, confused. How could time matter to someone when money was no object?

“I’m… sure whoever you’re carrying for can stand to wait,” he replied hesitantly.

Captain Lecter stopped and turned to him, tilting his face so Will could see a tawny glow in his iris, there was real color in there, somewhere.

“May I come back to give my thanks?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

Will stared, unsettled. The way the man looked at him, too closely, too carefully. Will shrugged away from him, walking hurriedly back to the deck and the open air. “I suppose,” he grunted. Not to mention, no one had ever wanted to make a specific trip to his lonely rock just to say thanks. 

Will leaned over the side of the ship, looking at his dogs playing with the crew. The captain leaned into his view, close, determined, pleased. “Will you look forward to seeing me again?” he teased.

Will let his eyes fall on him, widening slightly, before turning away and leaving the ship.

The captain’s laugh followed him, floating down the gangplank and wrapping around him like a sun-baked breeze. Will shrugged his coat tighter around him, trying to ignore the prickle on the back of his neck. He needn’t worry. The captain wouldn’t be back, he’d forget him. Will was sure of it.


	35. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 05/17/16
> 
> Prompt by me. Time is, essentially, linear. But sometimes, just sometimes, for the right reasons, it bends.
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rating: G for god awful feels

The cafe was crowded for a Monday afternoon. The morning shuffle, apparently, had decided to take it slow and linger, schmoozing over their steamed and pressed concoctions. Will found one empty spot, all alone at the window, squished between an animated couple and a lone man, idly flicking through a newspaper.

Will sat down gratefully, clutching his small coffee and observed the scene. Busy places like this were good opportunities to hone observational skills. He noticed the tension in a woman’s eyes as she pretended to smile at the man across from her. He noticed the teenager, scrunched over their phone and Will dreaded to think what calamity had just happened to turn his eyes so wide and worried. He noticed the tall man in front of him, sitting with his back toward him, close-cropped silver hair and a posture that suggested close quarters over a long period of time, maybe even imprisonment… 

“How’s the coffee?” 

Will jumped when the man asked him a question. He had his back to him, how did he know he was watching? “It’s uh… it’s fine, um… I actually haven’t taken a sip yet.” Will shifted in his chair, attention fully on the man now.

“I recommend the orange scones,” the man replied pleasantly, still not turning around, “They could do with some chopped almonds for texture, but never mind.” 

His voice had a soothing quality about it, almost familiar. “I’m sorry, but you seem somewhat familiar. Do… Do I know you?” Will let his chair screech across the floor, anxious to peer at the man, even as he ducked, hiding in the folded newspaper. 

“No, I don’t believe you do,” the man murmured, half in his coffee cup, “Mmm… I do hope you ordered hazelnut. It goes so well with those scones.” 

He _had_ ordered hazelnut. What kind of trick was this? “I… yes, but I… how did you…” 

The man was rising to leave, reaching in front of him to button his sharp cut, tailored jacket. “I’m afraid I cannot entertain this conversation any longer, charming… endearing though you are,” the man sighed with all the wistful heartache in the world, like he was parting from a dear friend rather than a mutual stranger, “But I haven’t any more time to spare. Perhaps we shall meet again, someday.” 

“Wait! Please wait!” Will tried to stop him, reaching for him as the man pushed his way out the door, fleeing into the street. He was a blur of color and light, then was gone. Will caught a scar across his cheek, a wrinkle at the mouth, the downcast gaze of a man accustomed to disappointment… but no recognition registered. 

Will sat back in the suddenly distasteful cafe, anxious to be gone. Not a chance he knew who that was, but, he would not soon forget. He’d find that man again, someday.


	36. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 06/10/16
> 
> Prompt by me. Bereaved.
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rating: G for ghosts

It had been 7 months. The weather, despite just gasping the first breath of spring, felt almost like it did then, warm enough Will could walk outside without his winter coat. Warm enough he could go down to the beach and wait. And wait. But he didn’t. He could though. He could.

“I’m worried about him,” Alana whispered, glowing and gloating with her free, unmolested life, “He talks less and less every day. He’s going, Jack, and I don’t think we can bring him back.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Jack murmured under his breath, “he hasn’t done anything yet. He’s been fine since the funeral.”

“ _Fine_ is not the word I would use,” she growled, insulted on Will’s behalf, “He’s dying and he won’t let any of us save him.”

Will’s lips twitched. Hilarious. Even after all this time, Alana’s arrogance hadn’t dimmed one whit. To think he gave a damn about any of them or what they did. How uproariously funny.

He knew they thought he couldn’t hear them, that he was entirely absorbed in his book, _Paradise Lost_ , but he could hear them clear as a bell. The book was not exactly a prop, he did clutch it like a talisman in times of stress, but at the moment his eyes only skimmed the page. He didn’t need the words.

“Will,” Jack was standing in front of him, talking to him now, “Let’s take a walk.”

Will looked up, feigning a startled jerk, “Oh! Oh, I have walked today, I’m fine.”

“Where did you go?” Jack asked gently. He wasn’t good at this. The softness of his voice, while pitch perfect, was betrayed by how infrequently he spoke like this. Will didn’t need any powers of observation to know Jack was treating him like fine china again. Broken china.

Will sniffed, looking away lest they notice the dry, bored way he regarded them. His eyes settled on an old fishing lure across the room, a beautiful ruby red, feathers still stiff and proud, ready to flutter with his cast. “Away,” he murmured.

Jack frowned, tilting his head, “You didn’t go to the beach did you?”

Ah, yes. That was the question. That was always the question. They wanted to know if he was still mourning Hannibal. There was really no ‘if’ about it, they _knew_ he was mourning, he just wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of telling them. He pretended hard enough to keep them half-convinced he was on the mend. It was amusing, in a distant way, to mess with their fragile, fleeting ideas of who he was.

Will’s lips curved, slow and sweet, looking up at them both with the darling, innocent expression he had cultivated so fastidiously, “Why would I go to the beach, Jack? It’s barely March, it’s freezing.”

The collective exhale in the room was so loud Will almost burst out laughing. How _easily_ they were duped, how _badly_ they wanted to believe him. This must have been what Hannibal did. Something so small, so simple, you never noticed it for the manipulation that it was until it was too late. Will tried not to revel in the idea of playing Hannibal. He couldn’t let them know.

“You know, Will, your job is still open if you-”

“I’m very sorry, but I’m exhausted,” Will rose gracefully, closing his book with a finger marking his page, “I have to ask you all to leave now. It was lovely of you to come by.”

“Any time, Will,” Alana pressed with sincerity “You could even come up to the Verger Es-”

Will looked at her and her mouth shut. When he turned his eyes on her these days, all he saw was a dead woman. And she knew it.

“Or here is fine, of course,” her mouth twitched nervously, unsettled by his unfamiliar coldness, sharp to the touch in a way it had never been before.

“That job’s still waiting, Will,” Jack said, outside the door, hat in his hands, “It’s there for you, when you’re ready.”

Like he could go back to teaching. Like he could exist in a building that celebrated Hannibal’s death as nothing short of a miracle instead of the pure accident it was. Well, that wasn’t exactly true now was it…

Will smiled, the lines of his face too severe, the shine of his teeth too bright, “And I’m grateful. Just a little longer, I don’t quite… feel like myself.”

Jack grimaced, noticeably disheartened, but was too ginger to say anything. “It’ll be good to have you back, Will.”

Will cocked his head and just waved, watching them go. He stood at the screened doorway until the headlights disappeared into the blood-streaked sunset. It had been threatening to storm all day with the sudden heat. The sky, steel-grey and angry, showed none of its docile, warming hues of magenta and plum. The sunset was thinned to fire and ash. Will soaked it in until there was nearly no light to see by before closing the door.

In the dim, dark twilight of his house, there came a whisper. Inaudible, unintelligible, no more than a breeze, tossing his curls, swirling around his neck, then gone. Or not gone, waiting. As if holding its breath.

Will set his book down, forgetting his place. He would have no need of it tonight. He stood, in the center of the empty room, no lights on, no sound, and sighed. His eyes closed with his lungs, answering the little breeze. His feet stood apart, his stance relaxed, but with the thread of expectation, the slight tilt in his frame to show he, too, was waiting for something.

The breeze wafted over him, satisfied with the reply. It stirred his hair, plucked at his clothes, nuzzled at his neck like breath. Like a mouth, invisible, hovered over him, blowing against his skin.

Will’s lips parted, his eyelids fluttered but did not open. He had no need for sight. He could feel. As always, it started with the breeze, so gentle anyone would mistake it for just an air current. Then warmth, suffusing him, holding him like strong arms, like a firm body, all around him. Then pressure, friction, presence. Someone was with him. The lips at his neck, the arms around his shoulders, the tight but softening belly pressed against his back, all familiar, all known.

Will’s head tilted back, lolling against the shoulder behind him, relaxing into the heat and pressure he craved all day long. His eyes squeezed tight, straining to hear the little breeze muttering in his ear. It was a word, he was sure of it, if he just listened hard enough. Somewhere, in the distance, the sibilant sounds of a Lithuanian tongue whispering, “Will.”

Hannibal was with him. Will smiled, warm and wide, not stretched and contorted like he smiled for everyone else. With Hannibal, it was always real. “Hannibal,” Will whispered back, adoring. He fell back into Hannibal’s arms, pressing into him, pushing up against him. Real, solid, there. Will didn’t need sight to know Hannibal was there.

Hannibal’s thumb on his cheek, tracing down to his lower lip. Hannibal squeezing him tight. Hannibal heaving a breath as Will parted his lips for him. Will clung to him, burying himself in him, escaping from the world with him. There was nothing there he needed. Here was everything he needed.

Will opened his clouded eyes, breathing heavily. The warmth and pressure and slick sweat of being pressed up against another body remained. “Hannibal,” he murmured to himself, idly caressing his sides where Hannibal had held him. He missed him so. He needed him so. Will’s eyes began to water. He bit his lip and sat down. He was not alone, he had Hannibal. Hannibal glowed like a fire inside him, close against his beating heart; he was not gone.

Will knew Hannibal was dead. He had held the body. He had seen it buried. He kept silent and stoic while grief ripped through him. The scream walled up inside him never truly stopped. No one could hear it but him. Behind his eyes, in his ears, in every silent moment, he was screaming and screaming and screaming ‘til tears, screaming ‘til blood. The screaming wouldn’t stop. He was exhausted from it. Every second without Hannibal was another note in the scream.

He could no longer fathom the world around him. Like a stranger, it held no meaning for him. He rejected that world. He would not survive with Hannibal gone, he refused. Hannibal had to exist in this world. Will didn’t know how to exist without him anymore.

Will sat down, eyes closing for sleep, dreams of Hannibal waiting for him just beyond his consciousness. Half-gone, between his eyelashes, he saw him, a fuzzy outline of the sharp-cut suit he knew so well. “Hannibal…” he purred, reaching out to him, to take him in his arms, hold Hannibal to him forever. Hannibal bent forward, embracing Will, curling into his arms with complacent obedience. Will still smiled as he slipped into sleep. Hannibal was not gone. He saw Hannibal everywhere.


	37. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 07/11/16
> 
> Prompt by peacefrog (kinda). Will as the devil who gives Hannibal all his power.
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rating: G for grieving

Will surveyed the boy before him, just a child, burning with pain; he’d been summoned by ones this young before. But not many.

The boy stepped out of the circle and faced him, unbent, uncowed. He made his eyes hard, striking to see in one so young. His defenses were crude yet, but his sheer force of will was undeniable. Will could break through his barriers, pull out that pain he was shielding, but Will resisted. There was no need for such violence, there were other means of influence.

“Are you a demon?” the boy addressed him without showing his obeisance; Will’s pride rankled, but his lips twitched. What self-assurance, how amusing.

“You know that already.” Will’s eyes drifted slowly around the dark, but handsome room. Walled in by stones, well-appointed space, it reminded him of hundreds of years ago when these dwellings were all the rage with humans. “Were you expecting horns and a tail? A flawless, black body on which to project your thoughts of evil?” Will snorted, drifting to a bookcase with no more than a thought and running a finger over the cracked spine.

“Nothing so hackneyed,” the boy returned, remarkably cool, “but you are… unexpected. What should I call you?”

Will turned back languidly, “I am a demon of desire,” he smiled, “A demon of wants and needs, dreams and plots. I am the Will to bend the world to your design. You can call me that.” He considered telling the boy he was given to manifest in a pleasing shape, but perhaps that information was too much for this encounter.

The boy grinned briefly at the pun. “I have a bargain for you, Will,” he spoke politely, but remained wary. Will did not respond, busying himself with the books, some were so old, so familiar, the boy had good taste.

“I will bargain my soul.” He could hear the boy smirking, just faintly, knowing no demon could resist that offer. Clearly, he didn’t like being ignored.

Will turned to him, eyebrow cocked, “Quite a high price, sure you don’t want to work up to it? You haven’t even asked me for anything yet.”

The boy sneered, insulted by the condescension. “I don’t want a trifle. I wouldn’t summon you here for something I could get on my own.” Anger leaked into his words, his barely suppressed rage making him shake.

Will relaxed into a chair, drawing it up across from the boy, “If you’re looking for a miracle, I’m sure you know you’ve come to the wrong place.” The boy nodded. “Then tell me, what is it you want so badly that you already know you’d wager your soul for it?”

The boy swallowed to make his voice steady. He took a deep breath, the words ready at his lips, chosen and rehearsed, “I want you to give me the power to avenge my sister’s death.”

And he would pay his soul for that? Will frowned internally, disappointed. Why not ask Will to kill the murderers and be done with it? After all, he was already here, and the price for a simple slaying was much less than a soul… Still, _caveat emptor_ as they used to say.

“Very well, that’s a moment’s work. Shall we-”

The boy held up a hand, “No.”

Will’s eyes tightened, no longer amused at the boy’s manners, “You know I’m not really inclined to do you any favors if you interrupt me in the middle of them.”

“My soul is worth more than the immediate deaths of a few vile, cruel men. I want to _avenge_ my sister,” the boy hissed black rage, “I want the power to make others suffer as she had to suffer, so that her death shall never be forgotten.”

Will leaned back, understanding dawning, “You don’t want just these men dead.”

The boy shook his head once, his hands clenched, his face white as bone. How terrifying; how splendid.

Will rubbed his jaw, calculating. This was a much more specific request, much more delicate, the like of which he had not seen for some time. Only a perfect match would do.

“It is… not a simple thing you ask for, um…?” Will glanced at the boy expectantly.

“Hannibal.” He straightened with pride.

“Hannibal,” Will repeated, “Not only is there my gift to you, the gift comes with an expiration date. When I come to collect your soul.”

Hannibal cocked his head, “Couldn’t you just take my soul now and leave me to spread your gift throughout the world?”

Ambitious, this boy. Will chuckled, “A deal like that takes more than you have to offer. I’m afraid immortality is not on the table. So, for your soul…”

“Will you grant me 40 years?”

Will considered. Give the boy 40 years of vengeance in exchange for one pristine soul. And with the decided advantage of ensuring no one else would get to him in the next 40 years.

“40 years is a long time to wander the world with my gift inside you,” Will drawled, “you may come to regret living so long with it.”

“By then I’ll have accomplished all that I mean to,” Hannibal set his jaw, “40 years for my soul, Will. Or I’ll find another way.”

It was still a poor price for this innocence. Hannibal could still become anything right now; in this moment, his path was not yet decided. Will could feel the power of decision here; all that wasted opportunity was about to be his. All those lives that would never be, all those paths never run. And what was 40 years to a demon anyway?

“40 years then. 40 years of the power to avenge your sister’s death, then you turn over your soul to me. If you break this contract, I will know. At no time will you ever be able to renegotiate. The man you become must be just as willing to give me his soul as you are now. Agreed?” Will held out his hand.

Hannibal looked down at his hand, then squinted at him, “What about your side of the bargain? My power…”

Suddenly, the idea for Hannibal’s payment struck him. And what a gloriously appropriate exchange it would be. Will cracked a beaming smile just thinking of it. “I know exactly what your gift will be, come here.” He beckoned Hannibal closer, “If you take the gift, it’s as good as agreeing, our contract seals. Understood?”

Hannibal nodded, standing stiffly in front of Will, waiting and guarded. Will just smiled softly, “I will give you the gift of _hunger_. Your desire has made you a vacuum that desperately craves; it endlessly screams out its wanting into nothingness. This will give you the power you seek.” Will bent his head and pressed his mouth over Hannibal’s, transferring ravening gluttony through the press of lips. The hunger would guide him; the hunger would show him. The hunger would give Hannibal exactly what he desired.

Will leaned back and watched red swirl in the black depths of Hannibal’s open eyes. He accepted it and the hunger flooded into him, clawing into his brain and heart and stomach where it would never let go for the next 40 years. The red disappeared and Hannibal’s lips parted, gasping.

“Now you have my gift inside you,” Will smirked, “May it bring you all you desire.”

Will stood and, without so much as a backward glance, departed from Hannibal, the IOU note warm in his pocket.


	38. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 07/15/16
> 
> Prompt by anonymous. "50-Hold my hand so he gets jealous. Hannigram? Hannibal seeing an ex??? Let your inspiration run loose"
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rating: G for gelousy. Shhh, that's how it's spelled.

It wasn’t often he could talk Will into coming to one of his dinner parties. As a matter of fact, this was the first time, but Hannibal planned for many more times after this. But given Will was coming, the guest list had to be thoroughly scrutinized. He cut down the attendance by half, rearranged the seating to ensure Will wouldn’t be stuck next to anyone too curious, and then turned his mind to how best to make himself sparkle and gleam in Will’s eyes. Appear as more than just his therapist.

And it was in this frame of mind that Hannibal put in a call to an old acquaintance.

“Hannibal Lecter!” Jeremy’s beaming, honeyed voice streamed over the telephone, “It’s been quite some time, I had the feeling you were growing bored with me.”

That would be an astute feeling. Hannibal smiled to himself, “Of course not, Jeremy. You know the beautiful has always been of keen interest to me.”

Jeremy laughed in what he thought passed as casual intensity, instead of terribly flattered. “You haven’t seen me in years, Hannibal, you don’t know how true that is,” he smirked, “But you never start a conversation without a purpose, who can I thank for your dulcet tones in my ear today?”

“I’m hosting one of my dinner parties a week on Friday and I was very much hoping I might request you to accompany me,” Hannibal forced the words through an empty grin. 

Jeremy inhaled, taking a moderately long pause to consider the bait before snapping it up. “Well, I can’t say I’m not surprised, Hannibal, since it’s been so long, but…” Jeremy licked his lips, “I would be more than happy to attend, especially for you.”

Hannibal’s lips twitched, “I can’t tell you how gratified I am to hear that. It will be my pleasure to receive you in a week then.”

Perfect. A little jealousy never hurt either.

“Hannibal!” Jeremy’s smile entered the room first, followed by his sharply tailored midnight suit and a gift of Hannibal’s favorite Chianti, “What’s all this about? I feel like I’m the only one here.”

“I just wanted you all to myself,” his lips thinned as he smiled, taking the Chianti straight the kitchen. A slightly dangerous ploy with Jeremy, who was apt to take things too seriously, but melting him down, perhaps getting him a little tipsy, would only be to Hannibal’s advantage when Will came.

Will stood at Hannibal’s step over an hour later, a small wrapped box in one hand, his coat in the other.

“I was almost afraid you’d decide not to come,” Hannibal smiled, opening the door.

“Miss an appointment with you, Dr. Lecter?” Will smiled weakly, “I can’t afford to anger my therapist. The cancellation fees alone…”

Hannibal chuckled, taking his coat and hanging it up with care, “Not Dr. Lecter, I’m only Hannibal tonight.”

“Is this uh… strictly ethical? Me seeing you socially?” Will straightened his glasses, surveying the already gathered crowd and surmising he was close to the last to arrive.

“Strictly, you are not my patient and I see nothing unethical about asking a friend to my dinner table,” Hannibal came to stand next to him, cocking his head approvingly. Something gold glittered in Will’s hand. Hannibal bent to inspect it.

“Oh! Here,” Will thrust it out suddenly, face contorting with embarrassment. “I didn’t want to come empty handed so uh… I didn’t know what to get so… it’s fudge,” he ducked his head, mumbling, “There’s a little shop out in Wolf Trap that I like so I got you some. Hope you’re not allergic.”

Hannibal tenderly accepted the gift, “Will, it’s-”

“Hannibal!” Jeremy swept in, flinging an arm around Hannibal’s shoulders, curling a little too close to his neck, “Surely it’s nearly time to eat, we’re all starving!” His fingers just brushed Hannibal’s collar, “Who is this? I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

Will stood stock still, eyes narrow behind his glasses.

Hannibal cleared his throat, pocketing the fudge, “Jeremy, yes of course, this is Will Graham, a friend of mine from wildlife conservation. Will, this is Jeremy, an old friend of mine.”

“And perhaps I will be a new friend again soon,” Jeremy winked, then held a hand out to Will, “So glad you could come.”

Will shook it, hesitating, “Me too.”

“I apologize for my timing, but I’m afraid Jeremy is quite correct, the feast is long overdue, Will,” Hannibal paused to nod to him, “please excuse me, and do be seated.”

Hannibal wound through the crowd into the kitchen, Jeremy behind him, wondering, “Since when are you for protecting wildlife…?”

Hannibal tried not to watch Will too carefully at dinner, not to completely ignore his other guests, or let too much on to Jeremy, who was apt to pout and dramatize if he felt slighted. Still, even when looking at Jeremy just to his right, Will was still in his line of sight, over Jeremy’s head and down several chairs, Will’s thick brown curls absorbed in his plate, his eyes occasionally slipping over his glasses to mutter a cutting remark to his neighbors. Hannibal’s mouth twitched at every half-heard comment and correction. 

His eyes reluctantly returned to Jeremy who was holding court on recent literary criticism and the latest trends of the American novel. Not that it wasn’t fascinating in its own way, but Jeremy was such a different cut than Will, loud, flashy, stylish. His hands flew through the air as he talked, his eyes sparkled, clear and uncomplicated. His hair was an unfortunately over-refined mimicry of Will’s, Jeremy’s black curls, oiled and combed, falling over his face just so, in the most attractive way possible, and yet… it was all so dull, so styled, so… deliberate. Hannibal found himself disaffected by the comparison, stupefied by Jeremy’s vapid vacancy. Whatever personality he’d had had been mined out long ago to make room for all that wealth and beauty. 

Will glanced towards them and Hannibal broke into a wide smile, laughing at Jeremy’s witticism that he hadn’t been listening to. He took up Jeremy’s hand, lacing their fingers together, abruptly cutting him off short. Jeremy turned to him in pleased befuddlement and Hannibal bent close, “Don’t turn, he’s watching.”

Hannibal pressed his lips to the back to Jeremy’s hand, smiling just so, and whispered in his ear. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Will turn back sharply, lifting his cutlery once again. Hannibal sighed and turned away from Jeremy.

“Wh-what was…?” Jeremy murmured, confusion brewing between his eyebrows.

“Nothing, my dear Jeremy, nothing at all,” Hannibal returned to his own plate, gently slipping his fingers out of Jeremy’s.

Hannibal cleared the dishes for the first course and started to prepare the second. The door to the kitchen swung open and his head lifted, eyes widening to see Will walking through, a determined look on his face.

“Will?” Hannibal stepped back from the oven, wiping his hands on a towel.

“I was just getting a refill of water,” he explained, shaking the glass in his hand and making for the tap.

“No no, please,” Hannibal stepped forward to unscrew a new bottle for Will.

“That’s really not-”

“I insist,” Hannibal explained, taking the glass from Will and pouring him a refill, “the minerals from the tap will change your palate and throw off the flavors of the next course. I really must insist you cleanse with this.”

Will humpfed but accepted the glass. “So you and Jeremy are close.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow, returning the bottle to the refrigerator, “We have been, in the past.”

“He seems to think it’s the present,” Will turned to him, tapping his fingers against the glass.

“He is… very pleasant company, sometimes,” Hannibal smiled slowly.

“If you mean he’s as uninteresting as he is pretty, then yes,” Will snapped, gulping some of his refill reflexively, “He can’t _really_ interest you.”

Hannibal swallowed, “He might.”

Will looked up at him and met his eyes, shaking his head, “No. He doesn’t. Whatever you see in him, it’s not his mind you’re attracted to.”

“How can you tell?” Hannibal murmured, eyes dilating.

“Because you…” Will stopped, flushing. His eyes shot to the floor and he stepped back, “Not that it’s any business of mine who you invite to your parties, Dr. Lecter.” Taking his glass, Will turned out of the kitchen.

Hannibal deflated, but his heart still pounded. Jealousy did work wonders.


	39. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 07/15/16
> 
> Prompt by peacefrog. 27. How long have you been standing there? 
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rating: G for gardiac arrest

Cardiac arrest is caused by a misfiring of electrical signals in the heart. For example, one ventricle contracts when it’s meant to expand and suddenly blood is all over and none of it where it is meant to be. Or, worse, the entire organ just shorts and refuses to start again. Painful way to go.

The symptoms were frequently confused with fainting: dizziness, fading vision, nausea, fatigue. You froze, like an actor comically struck by lightning, your vision blacking out on the face of fate.

Hannibal had never suffered a cardiac arrest before but this is what it felt like. He couldn’t walk, it felt like momentous effort even to blink. His knees suddenly did not want to support him and a strong breeze might have blown him over. His lungs vented with uncommon urgency but there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room. His vision blacked out to one face, one form, all else immaterial in the blurry dark. He was falling, falling, the center could not hold…

“How long have you been standing there?” Will frowned at him over his cup of coffee.

 _Eternity._ Hannibal looked down, his hand found the back of a chair and he pooled himself into it, “Not long.”


	40. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 07/15/16
> 
> Prompt by anonymous. 49. Don’t apologize if you don’t mean it. 
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rating: G for guilt

Will found Hannibal in the kitchen. Of course he was in the kitchen, where else would he be?

“You shouldn’t be walking,” Will murmured, a frown tugging at his lips, despite the still-healing gap in his cheek. 

“Neither should you,” Hannibal returned without looking up.

“I can walk just fine,” Will protested, stepping around the stern dining table, “I wasn’t the one who got shot in the stomach.”

Hannibal’s stirring didn’t even stutter, “Liver, actually.”

Will’s lips pursed, striding over to Hannibal, meaning to brush him aside, “Let me stir, I can make soup.”

“No, sit,” Hannibal forced his shoulder under Will, somehow keeping the spoon just out of his grasp, “I haven’t had real food in weeks, I intend to cook this myself.”

“You haven’t been able to _digest_ real food in weeks!” Will growled, “You should be in bed, just let me stir!”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No.”

“Hannibal! You have to-”

“Will-!”

The pot crashed to the floor.

Will stared at it, immobilized, trying to connect the hot soup on the stove with the upturned pot with yellow liquid, lemongrass, and chives seeping out of it onto the floor.

Hannibal took the oven mitts and immediately tried to bend to pick it up, wincing before he got halfway there.

“Don’t!” Will’s good arm flung out, “D-Don’t, don’t… let me… please.”

Hannibal handed him the oven mitts, grey-faced, and limped to the closest chair, sinking into it.

Will silently set the pot back on the stove, turned off the heat, and cleaned up the mess with a sponge.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled over the faucet, wringing out the sponge with difficulty.

“One has to be careful in the kitchen,” Hannibal murmured, “accidents do happen.”

“So you’re not even mad?” Will shut off the faucet with too much force, leaning heavily over the sink.

Hannibal shrugged, his back to Will, “Nothing irreplaceable.”

Will stomped in front of him, “Oh, so that makes it alright. I didn’t do any permanent damage, so you’re not going to be mad at me.”

Hannibal looked up at him, blinking.

“Even though it was my fault! Even though you could have hurt yourself trying to fix it! Even though we _never_ would have ended up here, if I hadn’t…” Will’s voice broke off. He was white as a sheet, his breaths whistling out of him.

Hannibal pulled out the chair next to him. Will sat down shaking. 

Hannibal waited for the shaking to subside, then spoke softly, “Never apologize, Will, unless you mean it.”

Will looked up in horror, then his face scrunched at Hannibal’s small smile.

“It was something I learned early on. If you regret your actions, you dishonor them. You dishonor who you were when you made them. Don’t regret, Will. And don’t apologize. There is nothing to apologize for,” Hannibal cocked his head, glancing at the pot, then back at Will.

Will swallowed slowly, but then nodded, “I’d… like if you made some more soup.”

Hannibal’s eyes sparkled like sunlight.


	41. Spacedogs, R

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 07/16/16
> 
> Prompt by kristsune. 26. I forgot we had a cat. 
> 
> Spacedogs-verse  
> Pairing: Adam/Nigel  
> Rating: R for raunchy mornings

Nigel stretched out on the bed, squirming and rolling until his hand smacked against skin. Adam yelped, helpfully identifying himself as Nigel rubbed his eyes open.

“Mmm… good morning, beautiful,” Nigel rolled over to scoop Adam into his arms, nuzzling his mussed hair.

“Nigelll…” Adam pouted, helplessly squirming, reaching for his alarm clock, “It’s only 7 o’clock, go back to sleep…”

Adam’s flailing was no match for Nigel’s arms, however, not that Adam was really trying to escape. Nigel pulled Adam’s warm, naked body up against his, draping a leg over his. “Nnmmm, too late, I’m awake now,” Nigel kissed Adam’s earlobe, and behind it, and down his neck, tickling him.

“I have to get up and go to work in an hour…” Adam whined between giggles, trying to crane his neck out of Nigel’s reach and failing miserably, “S-Stop it, stop! Hee!”

“Plenty of time then,” Nigel rumbled, voice thick and low from sleep. He trailed his fingers down Adam’s spine, finding that ticklish spot in the small of his back.

“Stop it, STOP it!” Adam bucked, squealing, legs thrashing at the covers.

“No,” Nigel growled, flipping him over and crawling on top of him. “I was dreaming about you last night,“ he purred in Adam’s ear, insinuating a hand between Adam’s thighs and spreading them, “you were riding me on a sun-baked beach, no clothes in sight, smile on your lips…” Nigel ground into the soft place on Adam’s thigh.

Adam gurgled, eyes dilating. His fingers twined into Nigel’s hair, arching and rolling his hips treacherously. “I- I was?” he panted, “Good… good, Nigel…”

“Oh, fucking hell, baby, you were beautiful…” Nigel moaned, bending to suck on Adam’s neck, his fingers becoming slippery as he found Adam’s straining cock.

“Mew.”

Nigel froze and shot a beady look down a the floor. The little white cat looked up at him with eyes as blue and innocent as Adam’s, “Mew.”

Nigel flopped against the pillow, groaning, “I forgot we had a fucking cat.”

“Polaris!” Adam shot up, “She’s probably hungry, hold on.” Adam stood up, buck naked in the morning light, still hard and unembarrassed, and padded to the kitchen, the little white cat mercifully following in his foot steps.

Nigel sighed and rolled over, leaning back against the pillows. Stupid cat, ruining his perfect fucking morning shag. He stroked himself idly, at least Adam’s mood wasn’t tarnished and this thing could still be salvaged. And the cat _did_ make Adam happy, so he supposed he couldn’t break her neck…

Adam stepped back into the room, grinning, and closed the door behind him. “She’ll be fine now. Where were we…?” he crawled across the covers to Nigel, cock bobbing between his legs.

Nigel beamed, “Do I need to refresh your memory?” He reached up and slid a hand down Adam’s spine to between the cleft of his ass. Adam shivered, “Well, if you wouldn’t mind…”

Nigel growled, throwing off the covers and tossing Adam beneath him, claiming his mouth violently.

That’s when the yowling started.

_It was an accident, Adam, I swear! I tried to stop her! But it’s not my fault she ran into the road and got run over 18 times. The road was just so busy…_


	42. Hannigram, PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 07/15/16
> 
> Prompt by anonymous. 46. You’re cute when you’re all worried.
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rating: PG for a lot of blood

Hannibal had started pacing at five past. Verdi’s Requiem had started to throb in his brain after a quarter. And now at twenty minutes to the hour he’d begun biting his nails, a habit he hadn’t taken up since childhood.

Almost two hours and almost twice as long as Will had promised it would take. He never should have sent Will to negotiate with Margot and Alana. Well, ‘sent’ was slightly overstated. ‘Let’ may have been more appropriate. ‘Prohibited’ even, but also the words ‘grossly overridden’ accompanied that one. 

He still never should have allowed Will to face danger in his place. It was known to them that they were hunting for Hannibal and he would likely be captured if not killed on sight. And it was on this detail that Will circled and spun him ‘round until Hannibal agreed to let Will do reconnaissance. Hannibal couldn’t imagine what he’d been thinking.

If there was still no sign of Will at the hour, price on his head or no, he was going to tear the building apart brick by brick. He could feel a snarl already starting to build, expanding his chest, making it hard to breathe. If Will didn’t come back… white noise filled Hannibal’s brain and he had to shake himself. That was not worth contemplating.

A figure shimmered on the frontage road. 

Hannibal snapped up, lip curling. They didn’t smell like Will. They smelled like blood. Not Will’s blood, but… but, wait. Hannibal inhaled carefully as the figure waved at him, sharpening into someone he recognized.

Hannibal dropped his fighting stance, running to Will in aborted panic and scooping him into his arms.

Will grinned as Hannibal approached, dripping with blood, “The answer’s no, as you can guess.” 

Hannibal didn’t stop to respond, squeezing Will tight, fisting a hand into his hair and just holding on.

“Oof, good to see you too… Let me put my hatchet down. I can see why you like them so much, they do make quick work, don’t they?” The blood-slick weapon slipped to the ground.

Hannibal pulled back only to squeeze at Will’s arms and face, scrutinizing, “You’re not hurt…?”

Will shook his head, still smiling, “Just winded. None of this is mine.” His teeth bared, a streak of black over the gleaming ivory visible in the moonlight.

Hannibal panted, his anxiety leaving him shivering. “I never should have let you go, you were gone for twice as long as you should have been,” he growled, still furious, “it was an incomprehensibly poor decision, the risk alone could easily have been mitigated…”

Will snickered breathlessly. He reached up to shush Hannibal, dragging a wet thumb across his cheek and lips, “Heh… shh, Hannibal. You know something? You’re so cute when you worry.”

Hannibal’s lips twitched, but when Will leaned forward to kiss him, planting both red, sticky hands on his face, Hannibal relented. He’d be cute for Will and he’d keep worrying. Though perhaps more for the other side than for Will from now on.


	43. Spacedogs, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 07/16/16
> 
> Prompt by anonymous. 22. I was kind of wondering if maybe…could we…you want to go to the movies with me?
> 
> Spacedogs-verse  
> Pairing: Adam/Nigel  
> Rating: G for glee

The tenant of 1B was certainly interesting. He seemed to spend more time out of his room than in it, even if it was just loitering in the hallway or sitting on the stoop outside. He smoked, but always flicked his cigarette away when he saw Adam coming, after he’d said something about not liking smoke. Streams of angry, drunk, or gruesome looking men traipsed through his apartment, speaking in tense, hushed voices in a language Adam couldn’t place. One of them, a bald man with gnarled scars on his face, muttered something as Adam passed and Adam caught a glimpse of his neighbor almost breaking the scarred man’s jaw as he dragged his head around and snarled at him. Adam walked faster away from the men after that.

But the man in 1B was mysterious in other, less harrowing, ways too. He had a soft voice and always spoke gently with Adam, even if he was barking orders seconds before. Except for his laugh, he had a bright, startling, loud laugh, full of life, but rarely did Adam ever hear it. Which was a shame, he liked the sound of that laugh, how uncaring it was. He liked the way the man threw his head back and the skin around his eyes crinkled in a way that made his eyes sparkle. He was, Adam thought, a nice man, though perhaps with poor taste in friends. Adam couldn’t think of one person he’d seen come through 1B that he had any wish to get to know better. But the tenant, well… he was different.

His name was Nigel. And he called Adam ‘darling’ even after Adam had asked him about it. He smiled when Adam shyly ducked around him to get through the hall or pick up his mail. He asked about Adam’s telescope in the window and seemed to really listen when he talked about the stars. Nigel made him feel funny when he looked at him, like there was a feather in his chest tickling his heart and his heart was struggling to get away. He could hardly look at Nigel most of the time, but somehow, didn’t want to be away from him. Nigel never insisted he talk when he didn’t feel like talking.

There was a movie on Thursday, about space. Well, it had space in it, Adam was positive all of the science was wrong, but he’d talked himself into ignoring that and enjoying the film anyway. If… he had someone to go with.

Adam nearly broke the skin with how hard he chewed his lips, fidgeting in front of Nigel’s door before he could bring himself to knock. He tapped at the door, then realized no one could possibly hear that, and knocked again, louder.

His fingers kept squeezing into fists as he waited for Nigel to come to the door. He almost hoped Nigel wasn’t home. Of course, that was ridiculous, he’d seen Nigel walk in two hours ago, it wasn’t likely that Nigel had climbed out the window to…

“Hello darling!” Nigel’s lips spread as he opened the door, “What a lovely surprise.”

Adam’s lips twitched, trying to smile, “Hi, Nigel. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Did you?” Nigel cocked an eyebrow, softly closing the door behind him. Adam frowned quizzically, just making out a couple hunched figures at a table doing… something.

“Ah, just a poker tournament,” Nigel smiled, “don’t worry, I can step out as long as I need to. What did you want, Adam?” Nigel leaned up against the door frame, kicking his feet against the opposite wall.

Adam took in Nigel’s long legs, his languorous, relaxed pose, hands thrust into his pockets, head cocked in cavalier disregard. He was gorgeous.

Adam’s mouth was suddenly dry and he swallowed hard, coughing. Nigel frowned, starting to move, but Adam pressed a hand to his chest, shaking his head, “No no… I’m fine. Um…” He licked his lips and started again, focusing on a little mottled patch of belt over Nigel’s hip, “I um… I was kind of wondering if maybe… could we… you want to go to the movies with me?” Adam looked up under his eyelashes cautiously.

Nigel’s eyes widened, “You want to go to the movies with me?” He started to grin.

Adam tucked his chin, shrinking back, “I uh… I just thought, maybe you’d want to…”

“I’d fucking love to,” Nigel launched off the door frame, squeezing and arm around Adam’s shoulders and pressing him back against the wall, “I’m fucking honored, darling.”

Adam squirmed, nose wrinkling at the vulgarity, but he knew it was a good sign. Nigel swore at everything for emphasis, if he was swearing at this, Adam felt he could assume Nigel was very happy. Adam’s mouth squirmed into a smile, “You’d like to go with me?”

“Love to…” Nigel sighed, eyes trailing over the crown of Adam’s head, over his cheeks, down to his lips, “when do you want to go?”

“Thursday? Just down the street, we could walk,” Adam bit his lip, watching Nigel’s face and noticing Nigel’s mouth part.

“Thursday it is,” Nigel agreed, running a finger around the collar of Adam’s sweater.

“Good!” Adam tried to step out of his grasp, edging away, “Um-m… Nigel, you have to let me go…”

“Or you could stay and we could have our first date now,” Nigel grinned, trapping his hand to pull him back.

“Date?!” Adam flushed, sputtering, but let Nigel pull him back.

Nigel’s eyes sparkled, “Go on, you know that’s why you were asking me. You may not have said it, but I know about these things…” Nigel pulled him close, purring, slipping his free arm around his waist.

Adam blushed hard, words abandoning him.

“I’ll give you the best first date you can fucking imagine…” Nigel murmured, lacing his fingers with Adam’s, bending close, as if to whisper in his ear-

“Nigel,” a man stepped out of 1B.

Nigel groaned, releasing Adam and reluctantly distancing himself, “Can’t you see I’m fucking busy you fucking _fecior de curva_.” Nigel spat, causing the man to bristle and prepare to snarl back.

Adam swallowed, catching his breath and straightening his clothes. Before he could slip away though, Nigel called out, “Thursday, Adam! You can’t back out now, I’m booking the whole fucking day for you!”

Adam blushed, threw Nigel an exasperated, but flattered look, and ran upstairs. Distantly, he thought he could hear the crystal bell of Nigel’s laugh.


	44. Hannigram, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 07/16/16
> 
> Prompt by anonymous. 13. If I were famous…oh wait…I am!
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rating: G for pining

“Dr. Lecter, our readers would like to know, what pairs best with human flesh? Red wine or white?” the journalist flicked their pen around in their fingers, keeping their eyes on their questionnaire as much as possible.

Hannibal, for the one zillionth question, kept his mouth shut. This was petty, even for Alana. But then, he had told her she’d been eating too much spinach and needed to cut back if she didn’t want her baby to look like the Hulk. In retaliation, she’d given the press a field day for interviews and they seemed to have turned out their silliest and stupidest journalists possible for the opportunity.

Hannibal rolled his eyes to the closest camera and looked dead into its glassy, unblinking eye. _‘Really? This, Alana? This is what I deserve? You disappoint me,’_ his eyes said.

“Favorite color?” “Any seasonal recipes?” “One famous person, dead or alive, you’d want to cook and eat?”

The string of absurd questions never ended. Hannibal contemplated slowing his heart rate to below 60 beats per minute and passing out, just to liven things up a bit. But Alana wouldn’t take that, she’d consider that lost time he had to make up. Better to sit through it until her vengeance were satisfied.

“If you were famous, where would you live? What kind of car would you drive?”

Enough. Hannibal turned his eyes on the journalist, “Stop.”

The poor fool jumped, pen clattering to the floor, “Wh-what? What did you say?”

“You asked me ‘ _if_ I were famous…’ followed by a string of absurd, irrelevant, non sequitur conclusions. On behalf of your readership, learned though I’m sure they are, I must make a correction: fame does not buy you anything.” 

Hannibal leaned forward, “Fame is the brief, group consensus that something is relevant. It is the foremost position in the social mind. It does not entail money, power, or success. As I _am_ famous and I live here, in this cell, I drive nails through my own coffin, and my power cannot even extend beyond that glass wall in front of you. But you are correct about one thing, fame certainly does bring changes.”

He fell silent, taking in the slack-jawed journalist, who had failed to write any of this down. He almost hoped they’d ask him to repeat it. Instead, the novice merely scrabbled for the door instead of asking for a follow up. Freddie Lounds this was not, Freddie at least had the sense to move her career forward on a scoop like this. He might have wished for her company instead. Almost.

Fame… he’d had fame, as the Chesapeake Ripper. He had never sought out glory, as it was antithetical to his purpose. As a psychiatrist, as a member of the privileged class, as a benefactor, he had preferred to make his contributions elegant, but unobtrusive. No sense calling unwonted attention to himself. And if he ever felt neglected, a fresh easel and a new display didn’t go amiss.

He’d had everything he wanted. Fame had taken it all away from him. And could not bring him the one thing he did want. His name was everywhere, every television screen, every tabloid journal, every popular google search. Now Will could never escape him. And yet, he was farther away from Will than ever.


	45. Spacedogs, PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 07/16/16
> 
> Prompt by anonymous. 32. Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy. 
> 
> Spacedogs-verse  
> Pairing: Adam/Nigel  
> Rating: PG for painful greetings

“Adam?”

Adam turned, had someone called his name?

“Adam!”

Suddenly there was a young woman in front of him, grabbing his arm, flame colored hair sweeping in front of her eyes, “You’re Adam, aren’t you?”

Adam blinked, tightening his hold on his backpack and nodding jerkily.

“No fucking way…” she murmured, “Nigel told me… oh my fucking god, I can’t believe it.”

“Nigel?” Adam blurted before he could stop himself, scrabbling for context.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I’m Gabi! Nigel told you I was in town, didn’t he?” the woman looked up at him anxiously.

Adam exhaled, Nigel _did_ tell him his ex-wife, Gabi, was in town to pick up some stuff before moving back home to Romania permanently. But he didn’t exactly expect to be attacked by her in the street. 

“Y-Yes, but I d-didn’t… I didn’t…” he tried to breathe.

“I’m so sorry for jumping on you like this, it’s just I saw you come out of your building and I just… I knew it was you, I knew it. Come, let’s sit down, I’ll explain.” Gabi took his hand and dragged him across the street to a stone bench under some shade. 

“Sit, sit,” she encouraged, sitting next to him and relaxing, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one, “Do you have time to talk with me?”

Adam tried to collect himself. This was Gabi, Nigel’s ex-wife. She was young and pretty and smoked, like him, and swore, like him. And she wanted to talk with him on his way to work. Adam bit his lip, willing himself not to become overwhelmed and start crying, “I was… work… bus.”

Gabi’s face creased with worry, “I’m so fucking sorry, do you need to catch a bus?”

The bus pulled out of the station and began to roll away. Adam’s heart sank, “I… I’ll just catch the next one,” he mumbled, mostly to himself.

Gabi frowned, looking down, “I didn’t mean to interrupt your schedule, Nigel told me you’re…”

“Autistic,” Adam snapped, “I’m autistic, it’s not a dirty word. I have Asperger’s.”

Gabi winced and nodded apologetically, “Please forgive me, Adam, I’m still learning.”

Adam nodded, not looking at her. “Why did you want to talk to me?”

Gabi broke into a smile, “Because I wanted to see for myself who was making Nigel so happy.”

Adam blinked and turned to her.

“I talked with him yesterday, while you were at work. He told me all about you,” she shook her head fondly, puffing again on the cigarette, “He said you were an astronomer, than you liked animals, and that you were the kindest-hearted person he’d ever met. Which is not something Nigel often gives a fuck about.” She rolled her eyes.

“But… the way he talked about you… I’ve never heard him like that. It’s like you’ve… shown him that vulnerability can be powerful and happiness is not weakness. I’m grateful to you for that, Adam,” she smiled up at him, full of sunlight.

Adam shifted, swinging his legs a little, “You… wanted to tell me I make Nigel happy?”

Gabi hesitated and bit her lip, “Yes,” she looked down, “and no. I wanted to… mmm… this part is… difficult.” She stamped out her cigarette and edged closer to him, “I wanted to ask you… what you know about him. About his past.”

Adam’s eyebrows wrinkled, “His past?”

Gabi’s shoulders crumbled, “I fucking knew it. He didn’t even tell you. Probably afraid you’d run away. But you fucking deserve to know, you’re a good man and I don’t want you to…” Gabi stopped herself and looked up at him, frowning hard, “Adam, has he told you anything?”

Adam felt his stomach turning over. He squeezed at the shoulder strap of his backpack, “I’ve met Darko,” he said stiffly.

Gabi snorted with derision. “That fucker,” she growled, “yes, he’s part of it. So, good, at least you know he deals with dicks and bosses of all manner on the black market.”

Adam nodded rapidly, “Yes, so if that’s all you have to-”

“There is more,” Gabi sighed, “there is more and it is worse and I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, Nigel should have told you himself but… he didn’t tell me either.”

Adam stopped trying to escape, but the feeling in his stomach was getting worse, making it hard to listen.

Gabi took his hand, Adam was surprised to realize his was cold and clammy. “Nigel… was… has been… a mercenary,” she murmured, “he’s told me he’s stopped all that, hasn’t killed anyone since he escaped to the US. That he only takes jobs selling arms and bricks,” she laughed, “not that that’s much fucking better, is it?” 

She swallowed and nodded to herself, “He killed people. And got paid for it. I don’t know how many and I don’t want to know. But I… know there were some. And you have to know that too,” she looked up at Adam, “You have to know what kind of man he is.”

Adam couldn’t see; everything was too bright, the saturation of the world turned up so high it was a blinding white expanse of nowhere. Nothing existed. Nothing was real.

Gabi’s voice, faltering, shaky, drifted through his nothingness, “I think… I know he’s stopped. And he won’t go back to it. Because of you, because of what you mean to him.” She shook his hand, “Because that is how Nigel is, he would kill himself for the people he loves. He loves you. I am sure of that. If you go and ask him about this, he’ll tell you the truth. He won’t be mad, at least… not at you. Me probably. But everything he does… everything he is…” she swallowed, “he may be a fucking bastard and he makes more trouble than he’s worth, but  he’ll make you his whole fucking world.”

“How do you know?” Adam heard himself mumble. The world was slowly coming back, faint outlines of grey. Gabi’s mouth twitched, “Because I was his world, once. And he did everything he could think to do for me. It just… didn’t work out.”

Adam shook his head, “And you expect me to accept a man like that?”

“No! No. I just… wanted you to know. I didn’t want you to wake up one morning and find the police taking him away, or see bloodstains on his shirt, or smell grave dirt on…” she gulped, “I… think you should know he’s not like that anymore. But you have a right to know where he’s been and what he’s done. And not have that sprung on you like a fucking nightmare.”

“And this isn’t?” Adam mouthed.

Gabi squeezed him suddenly, putting her arms around him and hugging him tight, “Before you decide anything, talk to him. If he’s angry, get as far away from him as he can. But I think he’ll listen to you. I think he loves you that much.”

-

Adam could barely focus on his work, even after arriving late and with less than half his usual workload to do. He kept making errors in his calculations. Not even the stars made sense to him right now.

“How’s that Nigel?” Harlan said to him at lunch, “You know I don’t like those people at his place. There’s something not right about it. You alright, Adam? You haven’t eaten anything.”

He came home numb, desperate to see Nigel and terrified at the same time.

“Hey, you! Adam!”

Darko was absolutely the last person Adam wanted to see right now, _why_ was he in the hallway, _their_ hallway, where _they_ were supposed to be speaking _right_ now-

“A little birdie tells me you saw Gabi today,” Darko held out a dum-dum to him as he spoke. Darko had taken a liking to the little stick candies as an alternative to cigarettes in public places. Adam didn’t take the offer. 

“Listen, the bitch is crazy, don’t believe anything she says. Alright? She has it out for Nigel, so you can’t trust anything she says… okay?” Darko looked at him carefully.

Adam swallowed, “Darko?”

“What?”

“You’ve known Nigel a long time, right?”

Darko smirked, “Practically since diapers. Motherfucker can’t get away from me, no matter how hard he tries.”

Adam looked up at him, hard, “Would you say he’s a good man?”

Darko blinked, taken aback by the question, “Sure thing, Adam. Nigel’s one of the most upstanding guys I know. You’re perfect together, don’t worry about it.”

Adam nodded vacantly and proceeded down the hall with Darko’s back slap ringing in his head. 

“Darling!” Nigel looked up and rose from the table as soon as he saw Adam walk through the door. He walked up to him, pulled him into his arms, and leaned down to kiss him, but Adam ducked his head.

Nigel’s mouth turned down, stroking Adam’s arms soothingly, “What is it, baby?” 

“I talked to Gabi,” Adam mumbled, still looking away, but not pulling out of Nigel’s reach.

Something inside Nigel shut down. He looked towards the two underlings still pouring over a map of something. “Boys, out,” Nigel jerked his head, the command clear, but not as waspish as usual. The two men rolled up their papers, downed their whisky, and headed for the door with as little fuss as possible.

Adam set down his bag and swallowed, walking out into the room.

Nigel didn’t follow, but watched, “What’d she say?” He tried to ask lightly, but failed miserably, his voice heavy and dull with dread.

Adam chewed his lip, hugging himself, “She told me I made you happy. She told me you loved me. She did tell me that.”

“You do, baby,” Nigel jumped in, “I do. God help me, I fucking do.”

Adam couldn’t even smile, “I know that… what you and Darko do isn’t legal. And that it’s sometimes violent. You know I know that,” he turned back to Nigel with a dry look.

Nigel nodded cautiously, shifting his wait from one foot to the other, an unheard of sign of anxiety from him. 

Adam swallowed hard,”She told me you killed people,” his voice fell to a hush, “That you were paid to… kill people.” Adam looked away, not wanting to see Nigel’s face, “Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy. …are you?”

He finally looked up at Nigel, eyes wide, wanting to hear anything, anything honest. That was all he cared about.

Nigel looked shattered, as if he’d just been punched in the gut. He reached out, bracing himself on the closest surface. He grabbed a drink off the coffee table, uncaring whose it was, and downed it. Nigel wiped his mouth, a tremble betraying him before he could speak.

“Adam-” his voice cracked. He cleared his throat, “Adam,” he tried again, taking a small step forward, “…I haven’t been… a good man.” He grimaced, taking another step, “I’ve been… the worst of men.” He nodded, unable to deny it, “Yes,” he whispered, “what Gabi fucking told you…” he broke off controlling his anger, “is true. It’s all fucking true.”

Adam blinked slowly, his eyes feeling wet. He sank onto the couch.

“But I’m… I’m trying… I’m fucking…” Nigel broke down, throwing himself at Adam’s feet, “I’m fucking up, and I’m always going to be fucking up, but I’d rather fuck up for you than be who I was. I promise you, Adam, I’m not going to kill anyone anymore. Not even if they have a fucking gun pointed at my head. I won’t fucking hurt anyone. Because I… I know what that life is. And it didn’t have you in it.”

Nigel bit his lip, swallowing, “I’m not… a good man. I’ve never been good. Maybe I… can never be good,” he bowed his head, snorting wetly, “to the law, I’ll never be good. But I’m not… I can’t be who I was anymore. I don’t want to fucking be that man. I want to be your man, that’s all I want. I’m fucking done, Adam, I’m done.” He looked up hopelessly.

Adam sniffled, “You haven’t hurt anyone since you…?”

Nigel shook his head, “Not a single fucking hair. Before I needed, I had…” Nigel sighed and carefully sat himself on the couch next to Adam, “It’s a different world in Romania, Adam. It’s dark, and harsh, and you have to… spill a little blood just to survive. There’s nothing like you there. Not even the stars are friendly.” Nigel smiled weakly, “And I did things… that no one should ever do.” He sniffed, “If I could go back… I’d find another way.”

Adam pressed up against him and squeezed, “You’re not like that anymore?”

Nigel took his hand, squeezing it to his chest, “Have I ever scared you, baby? Do I seem like I”m that kind of person?”

Adam frowned and bit his lip.

Nigel bent his head, murmuring, “I can get angry. And I can get mean. But I don’t hurt people anymore. I swear to you. You’d see guys leaving with chipped teeth and getting stitches in their eyebrows if I was. Look…” He held up his hand, his broad fist, his sharp knuckles, “You know I could… but I don’t.” He cupped Adam’s cheek, “Because I don’t fucking want to.”

Adam chewed his lip, but could feel himself sinking into the warm security of the Nigel he knew, the Nigel who kept him, the Nigel who held him. His Nigel. The other Nigel was just a monster in a far away place called Romania that he’d never seen. Someone else, somewhere else.

“Nigel?” Adam squeaked, curling into Nigel’s lap.

“Yes, darling?” Nigel hugged him close, stroking his hair slowly.

“I love you,” Adam whispered.

“I love you too, Adam, so fucking much,” Nigel sighed, “so fucking much.”


	46. Hannigram, R

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 07/18/16
> 
> Prompt by anonymous. 8. I am not telling you how I lost my virginity, nope.
> 
> Hannibal-verse  
> Pairing: Will/Hannibal  
> Rating: R for rimming, amongst other things

“So, you are Margot’s unwitting donor,” Hannibal settled in his chair.

Will focused on the curtains, “It seems I am.”

“Did you know?”

“Hmm?” Will looked up.

“About Margot’s intentions, did you know?” Hannibal repeated methodically.

Will shrugged, “I had a feeling something was going on. Just didn’t care.”

“You didn’t care that a self-professed lesbian chose to have unprotected sex with you?”

Will’s face twitched, “What exactly are you getting at, Dr. Lecter?”

Hannibal straightened up, glancing aside, “Nothing in particular. Only observing that if you had a more fulfilling sex life, you may have paused to consider your circumstances.”

Will cocked his head, “What makes you think I don’t have a fulfilling sex life?”

“Do you?”

Will said nothing, but met Hannibal’s gaze head on.

“Tell me about your first time, Will,” Hannibal suggested.

“No,” Will shook his head, not breaking eye contact.

“Why not?”

Will’s teeth bared, only half-smiling, “I am _not_ telling you how I lost my virginity, nope.”

“You didn’t answer my question, why not?” Hannibal pressed.

“Because it doesn’t matter.”

“If it doesn’t matter, then it doesn’t matter if you tell me,” Hannibal paused, “Have you ever told anyone, Will? Has anyone ever asked?”

Will swallowed, “I was fifteen, she was drunk, I came too fast, I didn’t have sex again for years. That’s it.”

Hannibal blinked once, “As perfunctory as it was awkward and uncomfortable?”

“Exactly like this conversation,” Will snipped.

Hannibal huffed a laugh. He considered his hand on the arm of the chair, “Would you like to hear how I lost my virginity?”

Will blinked, sitting up, “What… what does that-”

“You haven’t been completely honest with me, Will. Perhaps my disclosure will put you in a more communicative frame of mind,” Hannibal rolled his shoulders, uncrossing his legs and setting them firmly on the floor, “Vulnerability is sympathetic, after all.”

“You want me to be vulnerable?” Will growled, his voice coming out lower than expected.

“Isn’t that the point of therapy?” Hannibal returned, “To become comfortable with vulnerability.”

Will snorted, “You could use a dose of that.”

Hannibal’s lips curved, “Then shall I begin?”

Will swallowed, then nodded.

“It was his hands,” Hannibal considered, gaze going far away from the present, “He had such beautiful hands, the way they curled around a wine glass, the way they rested on his knee, both soft and strong. I wanted to know those hands, I wanted to feel them on me.”

“I was nineteen, in Florence. I was spending my summer studying beautiful things. We met at a dinner, lamb was being served as I recall. I recited Petrarch and found his deep eyes across the table, warm and dark. I wanted him immediately. He toasted me, complimenting how well I masked my accent. He drank deeply, his throat bobbing. His fingers tightened on the stem of the glass, tilting the liquid past his lips. I was transfixed.

“I knew he was watching me through dinner. I flirted with others to spark jealousy. As soon as the plates were cleared, he approached me. He said I spoke beautifully, but my lips were not made for poetry. He touched my hip. I let him. He tried to kiss me and that I rejected. I turned away, I made him pursue me.”

“You value the chase,” Will interrupted, voice rough.

“Yes,” Hannibal closed his eyes, “The chase is what makes it worth it.”

Will cleared his throat, “Spare me the cat and mouse game.”

“You do not wish to hear how we danced to put the room to shame? About his hot hands on my shoulders, on my neck, on my waist, burning through my clothes? About his whispered desires in my ear before I would follow him to his room…?”

“No,” Will coughed again, throat thick, shuffling in his seat, “I don’t.”

Hannibal paused, his eyes back in the present, fixed on Will, lingering on Will, “I had tried fingering myself before-” Will inhaled sharply “-to see what it felt like. It’s nothing like the real thing, of course. But I was young and eager, very eager. My hand was on his zipper before he closed the door, stroking him, feeling him. I was terribly curious.”

“His cock was thick and heavy and pressing out to meet me. I was enchanted. It feels good to be wanted, doesn’t it Will?” Hannibal tilted his head, “To know we are wanted in that visceral, undeniable way…”

Will swallowed audibly, refusing to look away.

“Skin is so hot when its aroused, Will. A flush, not necessarily visible, as blood vessels expand and pump faster through the body with anticipation. The body thrums with need and jumps at stimulation. His hands ripping off my clothes was enough to make my mouth pour obscenities I didn’t know I knew. When he touched me, skin to skin, when his hands found my hips and yanked me close…” he paused to wet his lips, “the universe shifted. A new color was in my sky, brilliant and alluring, pulling me in.

“His fingers reached for every part of me. I trembled under him. I wanted, with insensible desire for something I didn’t know. Yet I wanted badly. He murmured that I was beautiful, that I was the muse every artist had ever known. I didn’t care. I bent between his legs and licked at his head. Male genitalia is pungent and not always pleasantly so. He tasted savory and lingered on my tongue, in my nostrils, clogging my senses. I wrapped my lips around him and sucked. I discovered flavors I had only dreamt of, tastes to match desires, textures to match wishes. I shocked him with my confidence. No virgin sucked like I did, I believe,” Hannibal smirked, “Perhaps he never realized he was my first. Not that it matters.”

A whimper caught in Will’s throat. His hands dug into the arms of the chair, white-knuckled.

“For a moment, I lost myself. I sucked until he came in my mouth. He tried to pull me away, but I was too ravenous. I swallowed, surprised, and had no time to appreciate the flavor. I looked up at him, dazed, my mouth swollen and tender. He gasped, falling back on the bed and pleaded with me to wait and not be greedy. I frowned, but noticed the way he admired my ass cheeks and understood his intention. I settled myself into his lap and ground him to hardness again. He had more to give me, so much more, and I could not wait for it,” Hannibal grinned, “I have learned to be more patient over the years.”

“His hands squeezed at my ass, kneading, bouncing me on his thighs. His fingers prized my cheeks apart and grazed my entrance. Electricity ran up my spine. I begged him to do it again,” Hannibal’s voice lowered, his lips parted, “He did. With his fingertips, he rubbed circles that drove me to frenzy, bucking like a wild animal. Sensation overtook me, such that I lost the power to control myself. It frightened and excited me.”

He breathed and listened for Will’s answering, ragged breath, lungs heavy in his chest as he leaned forward.

“Have you ever had a rim job, Will?”

Will’s pupils nearly eclipsed his irises. He stayed perfectly still.

Hannibal inhaled, slowly, “I couldn’t recommend it strongly enough. The wet, hot, squirming of his tongue inside me, coating me, making me slick and pliable. He held my thighs as I sat on his face, trying not to suffocate him. He pinched me when I moved too much, scraping his teeth against my flesh so that I would shiver,” he swallowed, his eyes almost closing, “I could see myself, a wax figure melting in a furnace. He lavished me with his mouth as he opened me up… has no on ever done that for you, Will?” He opened his eyes completely, fixating on Will.

Will’s mouth parted soundlessly. “This isn’t… about me,” his voice strained.

“Quite the contrary, this is all for your benefit,” Hannibal purred, “But that is a terrible shame that no one has. I could have come from that alone.”

Will jerked forward.

Hannibal shifted in his seat, “I wanted to come. My fingers knotted into the sheets. I whined. I panted. But he wouldn’t let me.”

Will’s thigh tensed, shadows shifting across his pant leg, catching Hannibal’s eye.

“He flipped me over onto my front, bending my knees so I could hang open in the air, biting into a pillow. I knew what was coming, but I did almost wish he hadn’t stopped. His saliva grew cold on my skin and I shivered, on the edge of climax, craving that last stimulation,” Hannibal paused to lick his lips.

“He spread me with his thumbs first, greasing me with something warm, not like saliva, thicker, smoother. It dripped out of my ass and down my scrotum. I moaned for more. His fingers, long and beautiful, slipped into me, spearing me, warning me of what was to come. He told me to close my eyes, picture home. I kept them wide open on the shaking bed post.”

“While his cock filled my mouth deliciously, I would have perhaps been grateful for a smaller man for my first time. Being breached was not what I expected. It hurt. No matter how good everything had just felt, this hurt. My knees locked and my body tried to reject him, but he stopped and waited out the pain, waited for my body to adjust. I wondered then if I even liked sex,” his lips twitched, “not an uncommon thought, I’m sure.

“But then he moved, he withdrew and with the dragging against my insides, my eyes rolled back. It was ecstasy. I was floating, weightless, in a sea of my own pleasures. He rocked back into me and the sharp mortality of pain returned, but less. He thrust into me, building up a rhythm and my hips started to learn this new dance. My screams caught in my throat as he pulled and smacked at my sweat-slicked skin, stretching me into new and wonderful shapes. My cock beat against my stomach, dripping, my balls tightening.

“He pushed my head down, pulling my hips up, and grunting as he slammed into me. I came jerkily, arching my back, bouncing and grinding against him to squeeze one last ounce of pleasure. He withdrew, still hard, and ejaculated over my back. He rolled over next to me and reached for a cigar. He offered me one, which I didn’t take. I felt like a snapped rubber band, slowly relaxing back into itself,” Hannibal drew his eyes back to Will, “I’ve never told that story before.”

Will’s throat worked to suppress the sounds inside him, but a thin whine still leaked out as he openly squirmed and fidgeted in his chair, hands clawing, teeth grinding.

Hannibal cleared his throat, sitting up and clasping his hands in his lap, “Are you in a more communicative frame of mind, Will?”

Will gulped. “N-Not really,” he snarled.

“Then what are we to do with the rest of your time…?”


End file.
